“Junk, junk, junk.”
I watch as Marcus chucks container after container of my leftovers into the bin nearby.
“Spoiled.” He sniffs a carton of milk and recoils. “Ew, man.” It follows the path of the leftovers. With the shelves bare he pulls open the cheese drawer and winces. “Fuck man. How do you live like this?”
I cross my arms and shrug. “What do you mean?”
“Your fridge is a hazard zone. What do you do when you bring a guy over?”
Marcus narrows his eyes at me before resuming his food genocide in Foodlandia.
“You know I can’t cook.”
“Obviously, by the amount of to-go containers.”
“Mom didn’t cook, I never learned.”
“I know, we&rsq...
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