Hellovagood

She cooks pasta.

And she’s hellovagood at it.

Hellovagood is a word you invent at four o’clock in the morning, totally drunk and half-baked while thinking how awesome tattoos would look on your arms. You are you, so a permanent marker is too mainstream. Use a razor blade.

But hellovagood is a good word for Rachel.

She cooks pasta. Uses garlic and spices as foreign as her lips.

She’s a pasta Nazi, no comment should be heard in her kitchen. And whilst she cooks she tolerates your presence there only if you feed her booze and stories, smile at her and act as if you do not want to spread her legs on the kitchen cupboard.

Rachel’s eyes smile as she’s chopping up garlic.

Rachel’s eyes smile as she’s chopping up mushrooms and bell peppers.

Rachel’s eyes smile as she’d be chopping up you.

Put gemstone eyes on the body of a black cat and you might get her.

Rachel gives me straws for sipping beer out of a pint and I am stupid enough to accept that.

You picture for a second that the two of you could be more than that. It is only a second.

And then hellovagood.

 

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