Am I in the Twilight Zone?
I look through the menu and can’t tell what I should order because there are no prices (read: you shouldn’t eat here if you can’t afford it). I still have some extra money Ian’d given me earlier so hopefully that’ll be plenty.
Sentiment is a very fancy restaurant. It’s the type with heavy, leather-bound menus, wall sconces, the same boring-ass string violin music that if you listen to it carefully, you can recognize U2, Coldplay, or whatever music rich, white people like to listen to. It also has the good silver and plates your Granny takes out during special occasions.
A few minutes later, a server comes by with water, my coke, and bread and butter for apps. “Are you ready to order, Miss Kimbrough?”
“Um…” I think I made a final decision. Fuck it, I’ll just have to go for it. “Yeah, I’ll have the lobster bisque, and the Caesar salad to start. For dinner, I’ll have the jumbo shrimp with the aged filet mignon.” I look throughout the menu and still couldn’t find what I really wanted. “You guys don’t have French fries, do you?”
The server looks at me with widened eyes and an unmistakable, ‘Is this bitch serious?’ expression on her face. Well, yes, I am damn serious. I want my fries! “Um, I can see if we can make a special order.” She says order slowly, pronouncing it as ore-dur as if she knows they won’t do that here but she’ll just humor my request. “Is there anything else, Miss Kimbrough?”
“No, that’s it for now.” I politely smile. She takes the menu away and I casually glance out the window. It’s starting to become dark and the Los Angeles city lights bright up the city. Despite everything I’ve learned (and tried to unlearn) these past few days, my only focus is my dance class and Ian. Everything and everyone else can take a backseat.
I heard the strings switch songs and I recognize D’Angelo’s “Brown Sugar.” Oh, word? They know about D’Angelo and his baby-making music? Hmm…I wonder if I request “Niggas in Paris,” would they play it?
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