“You’re not dead yet.”
Do you know that asshole who shovels a plastic butter knife into a cake fresh out of the oven? Who doesn’t care if that plastic serrated edge curls and melts into itself after seven secs, making terrible chocolate furrows in what would have otherwise been a socially tolerable Betty Crocker SuperMoist! Fudge Mix?
That’s the asshole-rank that Maya occupies.
“Michael Osburn.”
Brandished a smile like an impotent plastic butter knife.
“Our first official sit-down. It’s very comforting for me, an American, to be in this noisy Dunkin Donuts with you today. Very. Globalized. You know, we all bleed the same triglyceride-crusty blood no matter white, black, yellow, dead--”
Cut the cake. “Is it true you fraternize with Organization criminals?”