“I don’t believe I have, wait, who writes it again?” Elliot asked.

“Jack Kerouac,” Mae said, looking at Elliot as if he were completely insane for not knowing.

“Oh yeah, the one where he goes to France and drinks and complains,” Elliot said.

“He does not complain,” Mae said, “He merely alludes to it.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said scratching his nose. Barbara came to their table carrying a steaming plate of cheese drenched french fries, which she placed in between the two of them.

“Bon apetizer,” Barbara said grouchily.

“Its bon apetite,” Mae said unhappily. Barbara gave her a tired look and went back to the kitchen to find another coffee pot.

“I’m pretty sure one day, she’s going to sneak poison into my food so she won’t have to deal with me anymore,” Mae said happily.

“Eat,” she instructed Elliot. Elliot picked at the plate with his fork, and Mae followed, relishing in the happiness only cheesy fries could offer.