The hunger in me growls from the pit of my stomach -- from the core of my flesh and skeletal structure, this body I have adapted, which can not seem to find a way to be content, to match the complacency of my exterior. The doors close to her Monte Carlo. I close them. Shit, what a contradiction we live. Nice restaurant, imagine that. Her and I and our hungers, inconquerable, yet submitting to a couple of free steaks from her company. Yeah, imagine that, huh. And poor her, in the driver's seat, she must know where we're going. These things we're approaching. How starved I am for the things she can't offer me -- the things no amount of stability can offer me. How starved I am for things beyond free food. For simplicity. For her when she didn't wear shoes and didn't work and didn't accept dinner invitations or promotions, when she was starved for the same things I was. For anything...else, really...and the car keeps moving forward. She's still driving, knuckles clenched. Hands wet against the steering wheel. Oh God, is she nervous? Is she gonna stop? Isn't she hungry? Oh God, isn't she... Imagine that, huh. Nice restaurant and her and I and our hungers, still inconquerable, even as the valet gives us a disgusted look, and shit we should have taken a taxi or at least a wrong turn somewhere. We should have ditched this joint long ago, she and I. Her and me. I and she, driving and pulling over. Stopping in the middle of the desert and maybe just staying there. Shit I don't want steak, and I know she doesn't, either.