We'd get Belgian frites and extra dipping sauces, paper cones bleeding through with oil. A late night addition to a fine establishment, plenty of characters and drunken fools, plenty of fingers to be licked. A good spot to soak up a good night's badness.
We'd get the potatoes and walk around forgetting who we were, cold nights and hot opinions. Laughing, laughing, chomping lightly, watching breath escape from us. Money well spent for once, though at that hour and under those conditions there was little that seemed like unimportant purchases.
We'd always said we'd be this way. Make enough to just get by, skin of teeth and the like. Sleeping on mattresses and dirty laundry, late notices and late mornings. Crisp and hot and creamy inside, a snack on the way back to our abode, humble as ever. Yes, we were artists and kings and queens and all of those things. Most of all though, we were hungry.
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