Dinner

“Got a dime, pal?”

I made a show of rooting around in my pockets. “No, I'm sorry, I don't.”

“A nickel?”

I stopped walking, and gave the man my full regard. He wasn't the bum I'd first taken him for. In fact, he was fairly well dressed, all things considered. His hat wasn't in the best of shape, but neither was my own. His topcoat appeared to be fairly well-kept and his shoes, though dusty, were far from falling apart.

“A nickel,” he pleaded. “Anything.”

He was in need of a shave, and his eyes had the look of a man who hadn't eaten in a day of two. Nothing sinister about him, just slightly wild in appearance. I took a step toward him.

“Listen, I haven't got any change. I haven't got any money at all,” I said apologetically.

His gaze dropped to the sidewalk between us.

“That's alright, pal. Thanks anyways.” He began to turn away.

“Just a second,” I said.

He turned back.

“Yeah?” He looked at me hopefully.

“I haven't got any money,” I repeated. “but if you're hungry, I can get you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Oh, pally, you have no idea. What I gotta do?”

“I'm sorry?”

“What do I gotta do to get some food?”

“All you have to do,” I said, “is tell me what you would like.”

His eyes narrowed. “You ain't got no money, buddy. How are you gonna get anything for either of us?”

I winked at him. I had to admit, I was enjoying this more than I should have been. “It doesn't matter, how. What would you like?”

“Anything?”

I nodded.

“Anything I want?” he asked, clearly incredulous.

“Anything you would like to eat, I will provide it to you, post-haste.”

He smiled. “Alright, buddy. I'll take a big steak, done medium, and with a big helping of mashed potatoes.”

“Very well,” I said, holding the plate out to him.

A look of confusion passed over his features. I felt bad for him then, but the feeling didn't last long. He peered at the plate, licking his lips. The background noise of the street began to fade away. The colors too, drained away until the two of us were alone on the street, the plate held between us.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Why, it's a big steak, done medium, and with a big helping of mashed potatoes.” I inhaled deeply. “And it smells wonderful.”

A droplet of sweat slid down the side of his face, and he licked his lips again.

“I know, I know, but where did it come from?”

“Does it matter?” I asked. “It's here. It's hot. It's exactly the way you imagined it. It tastes exactly the way you imagined it. It is likely the most tender and delectable cut of meat you have ever tasted.” I paused, letting my words work on him. “Eat, my friend. I see it has been some time since your last meal. Eat, and enjoy.”

Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. “I,” he began. “I, uh... I don't have anything to eat it with. No fork, or knife.” He laughed nervously.

“Why, it would seem you have a fork in your left hand.” I pointed. “And a knife in your right.”

He looked at his hands and found that they did indeed contain a fork, and a knife. He began to shake a bit then, and I'm not ashamed to say that I began to quiver with anticipation.

“Come. Eat. You don't want it to get cold do you? Think of how delicious this steak will taste. Think of how wonderful it will feel to have a full belly again.” I contracted his stomach then, enough to make him wince. It wasn't subtle but sometimes you have to force the issue.

He took a step closer. I could see the sweat beginning to soak through his coat at the underarms.

Taking another step, he let out a short cry.

“Come now,” I admonished. “There's really no need for histrionics.” I smiled.

Another step and he was directly in front of me, looking down at the steaming plate. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent wafting up from it.

“It smells good,” he said, and then laughed. It was a bit insane, that laugh. It was the kind of laugh that might have put another human on their guard. I joined in, laughing quite heartily.

“It does smell good,” I grinned. “Doesn't it?”

He nodded, still laughing, and began to cut into the steak.