I WAS MAKING my way along the shallow puddles of water, side stepping each carefully, like an elaborate game of hopscotch. A gentle drizzle beat down on my forehead, warning me of the downpour that would soon grace our lawns and gardens, and, incidentally, bring a barrage of customers into my restaurant.
I smiled.
YOU ARE READING
Dinner for the Douchebag.
Short StoryMaya Patel was, as some would say, special. And she was. She possessed the ability to whip up succulent, spicy Indian dishes in a land where food that tasted bland was appreciated and commended. However, the locals used the term special to describe...
