Life in Helvetica

She shouldn’t have fucked him last night – but here they were, eating brunch together, nonetheless. The menu was written in Helvetica. The standard black type font caught against the off-white paper in a contest of monotony. Cleverly named breakfast options and well thought out puns added colour to the menu choices. She debated between the aptly named “Holy Crepe!” or the “Eggstatic Breakfast Sandwich” before deciding on nothing; except the fact that the cum stain on the right thigh of her yoga pants from last night bore an eerie resemblance to Winnie the Pooh. It was probably going to take two washes to get out.

“What are you having?” he asked from across the table.

He was only about 5’8”, dark brown hair, unremarkable features, teeth that sat too far forward in his mouth and a Jewish nose despite his Catholic upbringing, but she smiled at him all the same– wondering how it would feel to wake up next to him every morning, to go for brunch every Saturday and preemptively discuss what would happen on Game of Thrones the following night.

“I’m not sure yet,” she replied and returned to her menu.

The letters ran into each other as she read them. Too much tequila left in her blood, she was certain the liquor was leaking from her pores, filling both their heads with the methane-like cloudy memories of messy first kisses. She wondered what he thought – how would they split the check? Would they at all?

The waiter came by and re-filled their water glasses before taking down their orders. He got the “Ham it Up Breakfast Sampler” and she said, “Same.”

When he started to talk about his cross fit regimen she smiled and nodded along convincingly, but all the while her attention was focused on a cluster of dandruff on his right shoulder that had gone undetected in the dark bar lighting of the previous night. She watched the salt scalp speckles remain motionless as he demonstrated the proper lat pull technique. She wondered if his dandruff was going to be on her pillow at home?

The food arrived but she wasn’t very hungry anymore. A few of his dandruff flakes fell into his eggs and he unknowingly ate them while she watched. She no longer imagined lazy Saturday mornings or waking up next to him. She was still anxious to watch Game of Thrones tomorrow though. This is life in Helvetica.


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