Dave's Tacos

They called my name and I didn't answer.

"Steve? Steve?"

Guess, I'm eating Dave's tacos.

I didn't realize it until they called my name.

Damn, Dave! You splurged and got steak tacos. And salsa.

Just a minute ago, the guy sitting behind me at Tijuana Flats called the server over and asked him, "Could you check on my order? Two tacos. It's taking a really long time."

"What's the name?"

"Dave," he said.

Three minutes ago, a girl came out of the kitchen with two orders.

"Steve?"

"Right here," said another guy. His name was Steve too. He got a Mexican Pizza.

So that left her with the other order, two tacos.

"Are those for Steve?" I asked her.

Her eyes fluttered like a slot machine. She opened her mouth, and I heard the buzz of a disconnected dial tone. I reached for them, and she gave them to me.

Munch, munch. Hmm, these aren't ground beef, I thought. I guess the cashier upgraded my order. I guess she felt bad for handing me a pen that was out of ink. Maybe I said "beef," and she thought "steak." Steak IS beef. Oh well.

But they were Dave's tacos.

I have a secret, Dave.

I ate your tacos.

Now I wonder who's Mexican Pizza that was.