I slowly lowered my fork.

  Anger is too exhausting. To be genuinely angry, you have to expend energy.

  I looked at Ryan. He sat there looking so important, so small, and so... stupid.

  "Listen, squirt," I began, trying to return my voice to its usual lazy cheerfulness. "I don't have the wisdom to articulately explain to you why you are wrong right now. But you are wrong. Totally."

  Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me with a decidedly unchildlike squint.

  "Greg, is that your argument? 'You're wrong because I said so'?"

  "Yep," I unperturbedly sent the last piece of meat into my mouth. "The most honest argument in the world. When you grow up, you'll understand. And if you don't understand, it means you did a bad job growing up."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The kid suddenly smiled. Apparently, my total indifference appealed to him more than the lectures of his teachers.

  I peered into my empty plate, then into the empty pot sitting on the stove.

  "Hey, Chef... can I get some more potatoes? The gravy is awfully good."

  "GREG!" Ryan's eyes bulged. "You already devoured an entire pot! By yourself! Where does it all go?!"

  The Head Chef slowly walked over to the table. He looked at the empty dishware, then at my absolutely flat stomach, then back at the dishware. He scratched the back of his head.

  "You know, young man..." the Chef sighed heavily. "My food stores are not stocked for black holes in human form. I am not feeding you anymore. Not today, nor, I'm afraid, for the next decade."

  His look made it perfectly clear: if I didn't vanish from the kitchen in the next thirty seconds, he would start defending the pantry with a ladle in hand.

  "Well, no means no," I stood up reluctantly. "Thanks for the hospitality."