Taco Night

Anton lifted a taco from his plate. A gob of meat, tomato, and cheese, all fused together, promptly fell out of the end and splattered on the table beside him.

As he brought the taco toward his mouth, Anton knew what was about to happen. The hard shell in his hands, crusted with salt, was just waiting for him to bite in. Anton leaned forward, making sure to balance everything over the top of his plate. He opened his mouth, gently placed his teeth around the taco, and bit as slowly, as carefully, as possible.

The taco fell apart in his hands.

Anton had one mouthful, and a plate full of pieces. He chewed, glad to have gotten what he did. Then he took his fork – only lightly touched by the dropped pieces earlier, and easily cleaned with his tongue – and started to scoop up the rest of the chunks on his plate.

Once finished the first, he lifted the next taco, ready to start again.


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