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| - It was a second date. I had taken great care to find a place with a comfortable atmosphere, enough noise to feel comfortable, not enough to be blinded and a menu that could work for a runway model. We didn't go there.
She met me in a coffee shop after work, nearer her, and after swooning over the snort she made while she laughed we trotted off in a torrential downpour to find some dinner. Too much gluten here, and too few people there we both decided to go to the Tapaniaci, no wait Tappenaiki, Teppanyaki (auto correct wont even get me out of this one) place.
As we walked in and realized we had come to far to turn back it became the place of second date nightmares. A lights so bright it was like being hungover in the sun after drinking your way into the groove at a 90s dance party, so quiet the weightier could hear my inner monologue saying "don't fuck this up shes really cool", and as empty as a king street balcony in January setting overcame us.
We were sat at one of many empty half rectangular tables on the short side, and told the rest would be filled shortly by group onnners. 5 minutes and 4 external general Custer hearing aids later we were joined by 2 lovely couples who drove down for just this show. The tapaniaci show began with a man clad in chefs get up. He wore all whites and flipped a spatula for a while with that 100 yard stare. He looked dead pan past everybody as a sudden pang of despair rang through me. I felt his depression, I felt the senselessness of the show he put on for reasons to dark to understand, and found myself falling into her eyes.
Our conversation went back and forth with some poorly timed interactions with our compatriots in gastronomical delights, then the heater in the stove top was flicked off as our entertainer turned to leave the half hearted golf clap, and it got quieter. The fart I had been fighting in could be herd screaming for freedom and my dreamy date was on her way faster that I could pay my half of the bill.
The food was pretty good. I hope she calls.
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