Taking pot shots at one another in the middle of an immaculate kitchen and fixing a heated gaze on each other as the heat off the grill sends vapor trails all along the cameras. 

Standoff not seen since Alexander was plotting on the monster walls of Tyre.

Knives were at the ready. 

Declarations of hatred were snarled in their confessional segments. 

Spouses as bannermen. 

Garcelle was trying to play peacemaker, while clearly internally that the burden was, once again,  on her. 

Then, salvation rolled on in- a bleached, spiky haired dove of peace, bedecked in the finest button up shirt with flames on it, offering olive branches in the form of Killer Inside- Out Burgers & Guy-talian Nachos. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey gang- let’s get out of all this hate and just relax in FlavorTown. “

This banquet, and several pitchers of Baja Pineapple Grenades later, and all was calm, all was bright. 

And the gospel of FlavorTown, once again

Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a poet, eldritch horror,  & soft spoken southern transplant living in a mountain’s shadow in Utah. In an eternal quest to be the host in constant disbelief in an infomercial. Nb, bi, and queer as the day is long, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. Found on Twitter @clem_flowers