The place is known for oysters. We’ve been here before, but today’s our first time having oysters.
The waiter brings them on a plate. They all look the same, with their hard shells, gooey in the middle.
We squeeze lemon over them, and I look at my friend with her long sleek hair covering her head like an umbrella.
We raise the shells to our mouths, sucking them in.
We laugh and talk about the Band-Aids of our pasts. The black cat she keeps losing. The strangers in my kitchen.
We toast, lifting our chins.
We raise our hands to get the waiter's attention so we can order something simpler.