One of the Yanks said it was fried dough, [drake says. he's tall and brown standing off to her right, wearing a t-shirt that fits pretty well, high top sneakers that he would have regarded as a fucking luxury at home. it's absurd that he just found them in an unlocked apartment, untouched along with a football and dozens of cute lemon yellow plates that he knew ari would like. he'd even smelled them and found no odor from owners past.

this is a weird world. but not as weird as american food.] Seemed a bit literal, but I reckon the worst that can happen is you sink your teeth in it and it turns out its real name is something hilariously dirty. [he winks at her, flirtatiously easy, and then steps forward to join the queue. perhaps misunderstanding her hesitation, he asks,] You want one? I'll eat the rest if you don't like it.

[she might notice he smells faintly of beer already. the fair's only been open for a few hours, but he does.]