This morning's 100 words:
You came over for dinner that night--reluctantly, although I didn't realize it then. I'd made something special, probably chicken with rice, the only meal I had ever really attempted to cook in my small apartment kitchen; like you, I subsisted mainly on fast food, chips, and visits to the college cafeteria. I remember that you walked in, late, and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. The food was already cold; I'd called you early, but you'd taken a long time to arrive. The food wasn't all that had grown cold--but I didn't know that yet.