A Meal In A Minute
Burned by a red bead of pasta sauce—a consequence of choosing to heat the contents of his can of Chef Boyardee in a saucepan rather than the microwave—Luca turned down the dial on the electric burner. He’d cut himself on the can’s edge a few minutes ago, and now the bleeding edge of his palm absorbed into his sweat-stained work shirt as he stirred the pot with his left hand. Steam tucked itself between his fingers, settled onto his bare shoulders, burrowed into the premature creases of his forehead, making him itch. Wiping the moisture from his eyebrows with his shirt-hand, Luca resolved to never work in an American restaurant. He was sweaty enough.
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