Minds in a Knot (Updating)

XI, Reminiscence

“Taking pictures is savoring life intensely, every hundredth of a second.” - Marc Riboud

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        "The thing about maths," Nathan said, while he struggled to get rid of the beef stuck between his teeth with his tongue, "is that they always claim to be useful in everyday life." It wasn't a pleasant sight for them, but they survived.

        "Well-" Alvin tried to think of a smart response, but Nathan just kept on talking.

        "Like seriously, how? Like, for a distance of me walking from that counter right there to this seat right here, how much do I have to integrate my ass?" He emphatically gestured his hand that probably meant he was still in disbelief.  "Is that it? When in my wonderful life would I'll be using algebra and all those lunatic signs? I wouldn't be in the showers counting the strands of my non-existent arm pit hair with X's and Y's and inequality or vectors you know."

        Everyone laughed and Izzy smacked Nathan on his back, as a form of physical revenge for hurting Izzy's stomach from the laughter. 

        "Stop making fun of my genes, Nathan" Izzy said, not really embarrassed, but just had the sudden urge to backfire Nathan's disguised joke. Izzy was practically hairless in area's that men tend to have an overgrowth or an abundance of freakishly generous hair follicles. The chin, above the lip, down the sideburns, the shins, you name it. "If you were to integrate your ass, I'd say, the best of a scientific calculator would show Math Error, yeah. Too many digits if I were to be frank"

        "Damn, that hurt" But Nathan wasn't, he was never offended. He was like a brick wall that was bullet-proof but never flat or a bouncer that would bounce off missiles without triggering explosions. Because, well, the abdomen part obviously. He laughed goofily and smacked Izzy back. His laugh consisted of funny inhales and loud snorts. It was funny, but not the type of funny when you're in a fancy restaurant full of adults who seemed to have a bad day or probably a tough time with their significant other or others or kids or any type of biological or non-biological bonds. They had to shut Nathan forcefully by threatening him to pay for their meals before which he had came to a sudden halt but with a series of grunts and groans, the laugh still audibly echoing behind his pursed lips, tears coming out from the wrinkles of the side of his eyes.

        With several recitations of oh-my-god's and holy-crap's after receiving their bill, they finally summed up their individual shares to match the total price for their dinner. They resolved to never eat at that damned money-sapping restaurant ever again. For the others, the dishes came in big portions but to Nathan, it was just. After a few unnecessary-and-avoidable-debates, they concluded that it was their stomach capacity, and Nathan was king. The food was grand, well worth for its price. But Rosie could not stop for a moment to think that this glorious bites of heaven will eventually travel down the canals of the digestion route in their stomach and form bulks of excretion materials. It deteriorated the appetites of the other's when she had brought that up at the table, although it did not stop them from munching down. But it was forgivable, because Rosie would marry her Biology Textbook, or the devilishly handsome Tutor.

        8.30. The movie would have started in 10 minutes. Everyone bought some popcorn or canned fizzy drinks or chocolate bars or some candy or crackers. But Izzy bought a small bottle of chewing gum instead. No surprise for the others, because Izzy had always been naturally appointed as the Minister of Well Being of Breath in their squad. His pocket would always be filled with different types of mints to ensure a fresh breath for every one, every single freaking day when he's out from his house. 

        It occurred to Izzy that everyone had their outfits on point that night, with different colors and a distinct taste in the latest trend, although not to a publicly distracting extent, but rather portraying a decently funky vibe. No skinny jeans nor sleeveless tops or overly short shorts, just exceptionally - kind of classy (for a casual night out), but not that rich-spoiled-brat-who's-parents-own-five-Ferrari's-and-a-mansion-like-DisneyWorld-and-10-apple-products type of classy, - choice of clothing.