Leftovers

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

They walked into Napoleon’s apartment and he, knowing his partner’s bottomless pit of a stomach, went to the fridge to apprise him of what was there.  “Ah, Illya, I have chicken cutlets, spaghetti Florentine, tossed salad, an ear of corn, some broccoli, oh, there’s some steak and half a baked potato.  What do you want?”

Illya held Napoleon’s head down while he opened the freezer and retrieved his vodka.  “What are you eating?”

“I’m opening a can of clam chowder.”

“Then, I will eat everything else.  I am hungry.”

“I love it when you eat the leftovers,” Napoleon opined.