Drew was sitting at another booth, in another restaurant.

This one was different… a steakhouse? Maybe? There was a plate in front of him with some sort of abstract onion dish.

“I feel like I'm repeating the same mistakes, over and over again,” he leapt into explaining to his companion.

They turned to look up at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Why is everything so boring?” He poked at the food on his plate. It was like if onion rings had the ambition to see themselves die artistically. “And why am I always ordering appetizers for my dinner, anyway?”

“Maybe you just like them?” they said softly. They definitely weren't that asshole he was with last time, and his heart twisted at the sight of them, but whatever the feeling he was having was, it just seemed to end before it manifested into any kind of thought.

“I can’t finish anything,” he said. He picked up one of the pieces of onion and began to peel all of the breading off of it. It came off in flakes and scattered across the plate. “I don’t have the motivation to finish anything. I start something and then it never ends. And then I go back to where I started.”

They weren’t eating any of their food, either. He stared at it, trying to decipher it. Finally, they spoke, probably bothered by his gaze: “Why not just try doing something else?”

“What’s the point? Whatever.”

They were eating, or rather pretending to eat, some sort of brown liquid out of a bowl. Next to it was a wet slice of cheese bread. Factually, they were mainly stirring it with a spoon, staring into it like they were expecting it to turn into tea leaves.