Little Miss Just-One-More — The Last Slice, Eye Contact Held

Lyrics

The room is a low hum.
Sarah's laughing about something from 2019.
But my world is this cardboard box.
Grease-stained. Almost empty.
Almost.

Three slices left.
Two are sad, middle-of-the-road things.
Cheese sliding off. Anemic.
But one...
One is the corner.
The one they cut first, the anchor.
A perfect right angle of crust.
Pepperoni curled into little cups of oil.
It's been waiting there. For an hour.
Just waiting.
They're all still talking about interest rates.
They don't see it.
They don't deserve it.

My hand knows before I do.
A slow drift across the table.
Fingers find the warm edge.
A lift, clean and quiet.
And I look up, right at Mark.
The host.
His mouth is half-open to say something.
He sees me. I see him.
The slice is mine.
I don't say a word.

I turn away, find a paper napkin.
The weight of it is just right.
This isn't hunger.
This is... punctuation.
A small, perfect period at the end of their long, boring sentence.
They can have the conversation.
The polite laughter.
The "we should do this again soon."
I'll have this.
This little victory.
This triangle of quiet triumph.

My hand knew before I did.
A slow drift, a claim.
Fingers on the warm edge.
A lift, so clean, so quiet.
And my eyes find Mark's again.
His mouth is closed now.
He sees me. I see him.
The slice is mine.
And I don't say a word.

They say gluttony is a sin.
But it's just a hand that doesn't ask.
It's an eye that sees what's left behind.
A quiet claim on the unclaimed.
The shopping cart left in the middle of the aisle.
The last empty parking spot.
This is the same muscle.
Just smaller. Warmer.
Tastes like pepperoni and disregard.

The first bite.
The crunch of the crust.
Sarah is still talking.
Mark is looking at the box.
The empty space where the corner used to be.
Just one more.
It's always just one more.