don't know how this fight started. just heard myself complaining how we don't do meaningful stuff anymore.
the boyfriend carved out the burnt fringes of his eggs, then pushed them to the lip of his plate. outside the diner, people peeling off their flimsy jackets in the balmy morning.
"this," he made some indiscernible motion with the fork in his right hand, "you, me, eating, together, not meaning enough?"