This evening, he nibbled only a little bit of the pasta before spitting it out into the trash. Usually he would just swallow the not fully cooked pasta even though it was probably partially undigestable. But a week earlier he had gotten sick from eating oysters and had been bed ridden for two days afterwards. He had taken time off of work and he his stomach was still queasy.

Maybe he would continue spitting the uncooked pasta that he test in the future even after he had gotten over the recent food poisoning. It seemed like a good habit. Not eating uncooked pasta that is.

Damn those oysters were bad, Max thought. He had ordered three on a Friday evening at a fancy bar that advertised their chef as an artist. Max assumed that the luxury would mean he was safe. A blind trust. That was the error. Conflating price and luxury with safety. If such correlation was true, then then his diner ought to be making people sick all the time.

It wasn't rare for customers to tell a waitress how grateful they were for the affordable meals. Whenever someone did say such, the waitress would always make sure to come back to the kitchen to relay the message. Dave and Max would smile and high five each other... or holler into the air if both their hands were occupied, which they usually were. Max wondered whether the people out there knew why he and Dave were hollering. Did they know that they would holler whenever a customer complimented the diner on their prices? Max wondered, but figured he knew the answer. No they didn't know that was the reason.

This evening he was eating spaghetti alone. He almost always ate alone. While slurping the pasta into his mouth he wondered what life would be like with somebody to eat with.