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Weekly Contest #362
“Bon appetit!” Robbie places the plates before me and Fred. Fred has his napkin tucked into his shirt, partly being ironic, partly not -- Fred’s a neat freak, despite his rough appearance. The time that I accidentally stepped on his shoe and scuffed it up still lives in his mind, despite my profuse apologies and spit-shining both his shoes to a gleam with a few pieces of toilet paper. Fred holds his fork and steak knife at the ready. “Yum-yum!” Robbie lifts the metal dome off Fred’s plate first. No surprise: a huge Porterhouse bloody rare...
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