Running In Circles || Nicholas Ruffilo

three

"How do you even find something like this?" I asked as I got out, noting that it felt very off the beaten path.

"My best friend from high school's parents own it," he said with a small smile as he led me up to the window. "Their birria is absolutely phenomenal," he mused with a slightly bigger smile.

"What's that?" I asked, noting as shock crossed his face.

"You have to try it, I can't even find the words to do it justice," he practically begged me. "Do you trust me?"

"I guess I have to," I pointed out to him, watching as his smile went slightly smug as we got to the window.

"Tyler! How are you?" a Hispanic man with a thick accent asked as he leaned out the window. He looked at me with bright eyes, clearly inquisitive. "Did you get a girlfriend?!" the man teased, but my face went bright red.

"No sir, this is a new coworker of mine," he responded quickly, his cheeks also pink. "But I'm doing good, how are things for you?"

"Can't complain too much," the man responded. "Birria for you?" he asked, I guess it was his usual.

"Yes, and a second order for her because she has never even heard of it before," he teased, looking back at me a little.

"Never heard of birria?!" the man teased, looking right at me.

I felt my face break out in an involuntary smile. "I know, how criminal of me," I teased back.

"What's your favorite fruit?" Tyler asked quickly, making my eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Pineapple?" I asked back, but the man just handed me a pineapple Jarritos. I gave a good answer because this is my favorite Jarritos flavor. Tyler paid and we grabbed a table; I was grateful it wasn't ridiculously hot today and that there was an umbrella blocking us from the sun. Tyler sat across from me with a Tamarind Jarritos.

"So I don't know how else to phrase this," he started, making my stomach twist. "What would you want people to know you for? As in what do you want people to see in you?"

I thought about that for a second, taking a sip of my drink, then fidgeting with the hem of my shirt after a while. "I think I just don't want people to see me at all?" I offered.

"What do you mean by that?" he encouraged for me to continue.

"If I don't offer anything about myself and if I keep people at arm's reach, then maybe they won't form an opinion of me."

A woman came over and set our food down for us, and wow, it looked incredible. The tortillas were bright red in flavor, you could tell there was a crazy cheese pull in the tacos, and there was a cup of something on the side and some limes.

"So, uh, you squeeze the lime juice on there and then dip it in the soup," he coached, acting it all out and taking his first bite. I shrugged and did the same, feeling my body slump in pleasure from how good the first bite was. "I totally get not wanting to let people in, but is it not... lonely?"

"I'd rather be alone than constantly worried about everyone else."

He tried to not let it show, but his face slackened as he tried to continue to eat like he wasn't phased; as though I was getting what I wanted out of this. He finished eating his taco and wiped his hands clean and leaned forward on his forearms against the table, his hands meeting one another. "That's not how we work."

"What do you mean 'we?'"

"The shop works well because we care about each other. We fall down, we pick each other up. We deal with a Karen, we back each other up. We are a family, and not in the corporate bullshit way." I felt my heart rate pick up. "We don't deal with the whole being a dickead because you're a tattoo artist and you're supposed to be some kind of tough motorcycle guy thing. If you want that, I'm sure we can find somewhere else for you to go, but we would rather you stay."