Popcorn

"Here! Put some of the hot sauce on your popcorn. It's really good. Here. Put some of this on it."

I was hanging out at the Swill, killing time with a beer and some popcorn, and this guy, I think his name was Rudolph, or Rudy, or something, was standing there holding a bottle of hot sauce in my face.

"Yeah? Alright, let me see that," I said. I didn't really have much of a choice. Rudy seemed to be very passionate about his insistence that I put hot sauce on my popcorn. I could tell by the spittle that flew from his mouth.

I grabbed the bottle out of his hand, and he stood there looking at me, blinking and swaying slightly. I opened the cap and poured some hot sauce all over the popcorn, turning it red. It looked like someone with a bloody nose just sneezed on it. I tried a handful. It was damn good. Like, really friggin' good.

"Hey, this is some good stuff. Thanks for the advice, man," I said.

"Yeah, it's good, huh? Told ya. It's really good. Always put that stuff on your popcorn. Always. It's really good."

And then Rudy turned away and shuffled off to another table where his beer was waiting, and I ate all that popcorn and then went up to the bar and got some more, because that hot sauce was damn good.