I absentmindedly checked the news. I scrolled through the stories with a bit of disdain, or perhaps nothing that strong, just a mere case of the ‘I don’t give a fucks.’ The stories meant nothing to me, and the grabby headlines bothered me. Their attempts, often successful, to grab my attention only increased my scorn. 

I sighed and looked out from the balcony. The evening was settling fast and the cool it brings was arriving quickly. I stood up and went inside. I was greeted with the smell of chorizos cooking in our skillet. She stood there, watching them sizzle in their own grease. One hand was on her hip the other holding a spatula at the ready, tense as if it might need to snap into action. She rolled a few of the sausages and watched their skins show their brown color in progressively darkening shades. 

“Hey,” I called out tentatively. She didn’t turn, only asked if I wanted a choripan, though, she apologized, it would be on sandwich bread. “Sure,” I responded, checking my watch. Too early for dinner. Perhaps the sun setting earlier had thrown her, though she almost never cooks, the kitchen has been my domain the entire time we’ve lived together. 

“What’s with the tube steaks? “

“Tube steaks?” 

“It’s midwestern for sausage, chorizos in this case. Why are you cooking them? Not that I’m complaining though, I guess you don’t really need a reason for good food.“

“I was hungry for some reason, super fucking hungry. I saw we had some and I instantly knew I needed some chorizo in my mouth.” She turned with a wry grin. 

“Oh I see. But those are the little ones.” 

“Let’s just say it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been craving a sausage and it turned out smaller than I expected.” 

“Guess it will just take more than one to satisfy your craving.” 

“Just like normal.” She said before erupting in laughter. We both enjoyed a lot of dirty banter in the confines of our small, chorizo scented apartment. I walked over and inspected her handywork. For someone who claims an utter lack of cooking know how, she was frying up a mean chorizo. She even had the bread prepared with mayo, and had chimichurri on standby for topping the sausage itself. 

“Damn dude, that looks amazing.” 

“Don’t worry there’s plenty for you too. We can both have a little snack, then we’ll have a late dinner. Maybe,” she smiled, poking the sausages with the spatula, “we might want to have something healthy, salad or something.” 

I laughed. “After this healthy super food, why would you say that?” 

She laughed. “Honestly I half thought of toasting the bread in the grease from the sausages, too much?”

“Shit girl I’m a gringo you had me at cooking something in sausage grease.” 

“Sometimes dating a gringo has its benefits. Now our combined cardiologist bills are gonna be killer one day, but let’s enjoy today.” 

“Hell yeah.” I said with a smile. “The benefit of dating you is simple really,”

“What’s that?”

“Your craving for sausage.” 

She swung the spatula at me playfully, “Go sit your dirty minded ass down, gringo.” 

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