lunch sucks at chez infiniti

smoke from an invisible source slowly builds in the kitchen and spills into the air of the dining room. a knock at the door. a phone off the hook. an open bag of frozen edamame on an office chair. burning gyoza on a pan. a pot of boiling water filled with only six pods of edamame. an oven mitt on the dining room table. a flustered wannabe cook shuffling in her chinese slippers (the vogue of last year's summer and fall) between the front door and her bedroom office. an sbc employee standing on the porch smelling the smoke and feeling the guilt of ruining her lunch. "take your time," he says. yeah... since, the shit i cook burns slowly.