that’s more like it

A pink lobster
glows neon
in the window.

Because it’s dark,
I can’t make out
the name of the place.

He leads me in,
waves at the guy
behind the register,
and takes me
to a booth in the corner.

It’s obvious
he knows this place.
It’s more than just somewhere
to get something to eat.

I look behind me
and see a bar
and pool tables.

We’re underage,
but, obviously,
for reasons I don’t understand,
it doesn’t matter.

“So, no Chinese food?”

“Nope.”
And that’s all he says.

This boy likes to keep me guessing.

The waiter comes over,
says, “Hey, Cade,”
and asks if it’ll be the usual.

“Yeah,” he says.
“But two this time.”

He knows what he wants.
No flipping coins.

I tell him I need to use the
restroom, so he gets up
and leads me to the back
where there are two doors,
one with a GONE FISHING sign
and one with a GONE SHOPPING sign.

“I hate shopping,” I tell him.

“You can go in with me if you want.”

Is he flirting with me?
Damn, I hope so.