Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

January 23, 2007

notebook draft: dialogue

"Why are you still eating if you don't like it?" says Claudia.

"What do you mean?"

She shoots Lucas the look. "You. Know. What I mean."

"It's fine --"

"You obviously hate it."

"Well, fuck!" Lucas fingers a gelid piece of fettucini on the half-empty plate. His fingers are oily beneath the low lights of their Baha terrace haunt. The food's terrible, but they've eaten there all week; Lucas seems to have been eating the same horrible pasta, strand by gritty strand, all night, and with only the one hand, his right one -- like a crab he delivers the bad cold food to his mouth over and over again.

"Yeah, fuck!" says Claudia. Lucas snorts. "What the fuck is so funny?" she says.

"It's you..."


"It's you--" And they both observe a waiter approach smiling, then withdraw in recognition of their strain, like a wave.

"Gimme a fuckin'--"

"--You're goddamn hot when you're disgusted."

Posted by Delire at January 23, 2007 04:08 PM
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