“ALL-U-CAN-EAT” in neon, over the windowless door. The snow changes to sleet as she steps out of the car. Her phone is on speaker: Yuning’s not picking up so a thin, sexless voice says, “no one is available right.” She cuts the message off.
He chose this place. Why?
“PUSH.” The smell of questionable Chinese take-out hits her as the door opens. Gristly General Tao’s and fluorescent wonton soup. There is an old phrase for this feeling, she thinks, and then remembers “gorge rising.” She remembers it, right as a boney finger pierces her neck.
He chose this place.
