Johnny America


Roger Starts an Omelet


The am­phet­a­mine di­et of his twen­ties had fad­ed in­to pen­sive mem­o­ry and as Roger stood whisk­ing eggs for a Den­ver omelet on his thir­ty-first birth­day he won­dered if he might­n’t have used just two eggs. He won­dered if one less egg in an omelet and two per­cent milk — or even skim though god knows it does­n’t taste as rich — if a dozen such tiny sac­ri­fices stretched over his au­to­bi­og­ra­phy since col­lege, since mar­riage, since Nadine’s mis­car­riage might­n’t have held his ex­pand­ing waist­line at bay for a few more gold­en years of ra­di­ant youth. He thought of his once-thick hair and for­mer­ly toned mus­cles. He added an­oth­er spoon­ful of milk to the eggs.

Filed under Fiction on September 18th, 2007

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