What Makes A Place? Essays
“Sorry about the misdirection,” she said as we walked inside the casual retro diner. “Guess you were right about taking that left turn a while back.”
“Figures,” I muttered to myself, holding in the urge to yell at her. “I thought you come here regularly?”
“I do, but usually I catch a cab from my house, so there really wasn’t any logical reasoning for me learning different routes here,” she explained, trying to cover her bad sense of directions with a poor excuse. “I told you to ask for directions earlier, but your inner male refused...”
“Correction, you were the one who didn’t wanna ask for directions, stating, and I quote, it’s so close I can smell it,” I shot back, doing my best impression of her. “Humph, something else trying to blame me for your faults.”
“I was kidding,” she cooed, looking sad. “And why did you give me such an annoying voice? Does it really sound that screechy? La, la, la… I might have to change the way I speak from now on.” Her ability to turn someone’s joke into a personal concern is something I never witnessed before. Must be a hard skill to master.
She paid for us at the front counter–strange considering everyone else was ordering before paying–and we were seated next to a…