[5MBW mean five minutes of blind writing, without thinking, just stream-of-consciousness writing. It's not designed to be pretty. Here, I'm building off the word "redolent".]
The fragrance of the kitchen was intoxicating. The paella on the stove, redolent with saffron and wine and other goodness, created an irresistable perfume that Jeremy was certain would attract people from the street, and certainly bring his roommates out of their self-enforced sabbaticals.
Nobody had spoken for three days, since the night of the party, since the police had finally left and each of his roommates had stormed off in a huff. Feelings were hurt. Doors slammed. Barricades were built.
They were good friends, or at least, they had been. The question was whether the group would ever get back to where they were.
Fred was angry at Jeremy. Jeremy was ticked at Linda. Linda was pissed at Brad. And Brad, well, Brad wasn't happy with any of them.
Somebody had to be big about the whole thing. Somebody had to step up. They'd been friends for too long to let one night blow years of friendships into tiny pieces. And Jeremy, well, his family always made up over food. Even an alcoholic mother and a father fighting depression couldn't destroy a family held together by good food.
So Jeremy brought out his big guns, a twelve-inch paella pan and his spices, and let the smells fill the apartment on this gloomy Sunday. Since everybody had been avoiding everyone else, his roommates should be plenty of tired of hastily microwaved dinners and bad takeout.
Sure enough, he heard stirring down the back hall. A door popped open indecisively before shutting. He heard footsteps, often hesitant, in some of the other rooms as well.
He checked the paella one last time. Perfect, the rice tender but with a bit of bite, the flavors of the sauce melding into one rather than tasting like the various ingredients. The chicken and the shrimp were browned nicely on the outside while staying tender on the inside. Peas and red bell pepper added flecks of color.
He strolled to the maw of the hallway, something that had become a gauntlet for each roommate to run, avoiding each other. He called, "I could use some help eating this." The tactics were cruel and necessary, and effective. As he set silverware on the place mats, one by one he heard his friends come out of the back. The back hallway was redolent with the smell of distrust and hurt feelings, but as his friends sat at the table, there was only the smell of saffron and wine and the nourishment the four of them needed so badly.
The fragrance of the kitchen was intoxicating. The paella on the stove, redolent with saffron and wine and other goodness, created an irresistable perfume that Jeremy was certain would attract people from the street, and certainly bring his roommates out of their self-enforced sabbaticals.
Nobody had spoken for three days, since the night of the party, since the police had finally left and each of his roommates had stormed off in a huff. Feelings were hurt. Doors slammed. Barricades were built.
They were good friends, or at least, they had been. The question was whether the group would ever get back to where they were.
Fred was angry at Jeremy. Jeremy was ticked at Linda. Linda was pissed at Brad. And Brad, well, Brad wasn't happy with any of them.
Somebody had to be big about the whole thing. Somebody had to step up. They'd been friends for too long to let one night blow years of friendships into tiny pieces. And Jeremy, well, his family always made up over food. Even an alcoholic mother and a father fighting depression couldn't destroy a family held together by good food.
So Jeremy brought out his big guns, a twelve-inch paella pan and his spices, and let the smells fill the apartment on this gloomy Sunday. Since everybody had been avoiding everyone else, his roommates should be plenty of tired of hastily microwaved dinners and bad takeout.
Sure enough, he heard stirring down the back hall. A door popped open indecisively before shutting. He heard footsteps, often hesitant, in some of the other rooms as well.
He checked the paella one last time. Perfect, the rice tender but with a bit of bite, the flavors of the sauce melding into one rather than tasting like the various ingredients. The chicken and the shrimp were browned nicely on the outside while staying tender on the inside. Peas and red bell pepper added flecks of color.
He strolled to the maw of the hallway, something that had become a gauntlet for each roommate to run, avoiding each other. He called, "I could use some help eating this." The tactics were cruel and necessary, and effective. As he set silverware on the place mats, one by one he heard his friends come out of the back. The back hallway was redolent with the smell of distrust and hurt feelings, but as his friends sat at the table, there was only the smell of saffron and wine and the nourishment the four of them needed so badly.
