Dill and Coriander by Catherine Roth

Because the kitchen is underground, reception is spotty. If she wedges her phone between the dill and coriander she can get two, maybe three bars.

I don’t speak much Spanish, but I think “Me gusta cheesesteak” roughly translates to “I’m hungover.”

For a brief moment, when I go down to grab table 6’s order and I see the way she glances between the dill and coriander, Yolani and I transcend language to form a sisterhood.

The man I slept with last night also has yet to call or text me.

Roth is an advertising assistant in Midtown and writes most of her fiction on a bus inside the Holland Tunnel. Her work has previously appeared in Full of Crow Quarterly Fiction and The WiFiles.