"This isn't the place that makes ice cream out of cereal milk, is it?" David asked. "Because I told you that grosses me out."
Ana pulled him around along the sidewalk. "No. This is a breakfast cereal bar." They dodged another food tour group as well as the line(more) outside of the record store. "And anyway, I told you, that ice cream isn't made from cereal that people ate, it's-"
"Fine. Spare me another lecture on hipster gastronomy."
Ana rolled her eyes, which David wouldn't see because at this point she was holding his wrist and dragging him behind her. There was already a line at 'The Cerealist" (a name David described as "pandering crap"), so they perused the Dali-inspired wall art. When they finally sat down David was in the middle of an obscene but witty observation about the connection between flaccid penises and the the desire to open quirky cafes. Ana would have found it funny if he weren't trying so hard to be a dickhead. She told him so.
"Don't be a jerk to me, I'm just trying to get you out of your apartment," she said. "You've lived in the city for six months. It's time to meet people. I'll have the Fruity Pebbles." She directed the last line to the waiter, whose peircings jingled as he wrote it down.
"Cheerios. And who am I supposed to be meeting, Ana? Cereal afionados?"
"Yes. Aficionados. People with afición." She pronounced in the Spanish way, with the accent over the o. Now David rolled his eyes, but she continued: "Passion. I think it's weird too, but these people find passion in cereal and kim chi and bikes. Get passion for something and stop being bored. It's so... boring."
David shut up and ate his cereal, wisely. (less)