Keen as I am to a 10pm dinner, I couldn't wait that long. And I sure as hell wasn't going to eat movie food (was I?). So eat before, then. Option A. Time was tight, so we didn't really have time to make anything. So I did what any good boyfriend would do: I drank a beer (this one) and called in an order to our neighborhood taco place, Lone Star.
It's basically this trash bin that serves incredibly good/cheap/fast tacos/fajitas/quesadillas/etc. Cash only, I've never dined in. You serve your own salsa from a hospital pan (OK, bowl) in their fridge (which is in the actual dining room). I had three tacos: beef, chicken, guacamole. Girlfriend has fajita quesadilla—chicken, steak, cheese, etc. Grand total was like $9. Like good romantic couples do, we dined in the theater parking lot. (Although no photographic evidence exists, it's also possible that I inhaled a diet Coke and giant box of SweeTarts in the theater. Without hard proof, I can't really say.)
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So that was yesterday—in food form. (I had another Burning River when I got home.) Part of what I'm trying to do here—something that is 100% against all my natural tendencies—is to really just write this stuff and move on. While I'm not a perfectionist in any way (my dentist will testify), I do get somewhat hung-up on certain things—to the point where I'll revisit them over and over until they're at least in that moment what I'm looking for. Trying not to do that here (feverishly reexamines every sentence in post to ensure strict uniform adherence to a fictionalized stylistic standard), so please bear with me.
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