Cream

It was late in the evening when Brenda and Sam were working on burritos for their guests. Sam was moving around, getting all the ingredients together, while Brenda was re-frying the beans and chopping the lettuce. He slapped her ass and then put the tortillas on the counter.

“Let’s see,” she said, “Do we have avocados?”

“Yep,” he pulled the avocados from the ice box.

“Garlic?”

“Yep.”

“Sour cream?”

“Yyee… nope,” he said perplexed. “Why do we need sour cream?”

“Because,” Brenda said, turning around to face him, “I always make burritos with sour cream. It’s my favorite way to make them.”

He took his car keys from the peg by the door.

“You’re gonna go get the cream?” she asked.

“Yes,” he snapped, “I’m gonna go get the damn cream from the fucking convenience store. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” And as he stepped out, he though about turning around and saying something to lighten the mood, but he never did.

This was the last time Brenda saw Sam.

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