The Appropriate Level of Seriousness With Which to Approach Dessert.
By Chris Munroe
Through the window he crashed, in a shower of glass.
He’d have been surprised, had he not been distracted by pain, both from the sudden roundhouse kick and equally sudden laceration of his face and arms from his quick, brutal journey into the street.
But I wasn’t done. I climbed through the now-empty window-frame, kicked him in the ribs, grabbed him by his hair and turned him around, to look him in the eye…
“Carrot cake,” I said, “isn’t real cake. It never will be. Also: I’m ready for the check, whenever you get the chance to print it up…”