* * * * *
Time to spoil
“I'm hungry,” Spring [1] said. “And I don't want to eat quesedea.” She was
refering to the leftover meal from La Bamba, a Spanish/Mexican restaurant
down the street.
“Well,” I said. “There's cereal.”
“Yes, but that means I have to use the milk which expires at midnight.”
“Midnight? I hardly think that the milk is going `Ah, 11:59, I'm still good.
I'm still good. Ah, midnight! Time to go bad!' ” I said.
She looked at me funny. “Obviously you don't know milk,” she said. “Midnight!
Time to spoil!”
[1]
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