I don't think meals have any business being deductible. I'm for

Host: The restaurant glowed like a glass lantern in the heart of the city, humming with soft jazz and quiet conversations muffled beneath crystal chandeliers. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, heavy with rain and reflected neon — the kind that makes everything look wealthier than it is.

Inside, cutlery glinted, wine glasses sparkled, and laughter rippled through the air like bubbles that never reached the surface.

At a corner table, Jack sat with his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened. A ledger lay beside his untouched steak. He looked both powerful and weary — the kind of man who’d won every argument except the one with his conscience. Across from him sat Jeeny, her dark hair gleaming under the amber light, her expression calm but unyielding.

She stirred her coffee slowly, her spoon clinking against porcelain in a rhythm that sounded more like defiance than politeness.

Jeeny: “Ralph Nader once said, ‘I don’t think meals have any business being deductible. I’m for separation of calories and corporations.’”

Jack: smirking “Ah yes, leave it to Nader to make lunch sound like a moral crisis.”

Jeeny: “It is a moral crisis, Jack. It’s a metaphor — about indulgence disguised as necessity. We’ve turned every meal into a transaction. Even hunger’s been monetized.”

Jack: “Come on. Business runs on relationships. Relationships are built over meals. It’s not greed — it’s structure. You can’t sign a contract over a kale smoothie and guilt.”

Jeeny: “You could try signing it over honesty instead.”

Host: The waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, the bubbles catching the chandelier’s reflection like tiny, contained stars. Jeeny’s eyes followed it — not with envy, but with something closer to sadness.

Jack: “You sound like you want to burn the whole system down.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I just want people to taste their food again. You ever notice how you corporate types eat? You don’t chew — you negotiate. You don’t savor — you justify.”

Jack: “We don’t have the luxury of poetry, Jeeny. You call it greed; I call it survival. You think this city runs on sincerity?”

Jeeny: “It could. It used to.”

Host: The rain outside thickened, the sound like a thousand small judgments against the glass. The light flickered faintly, throwing their shadows across the white tablecloth.

Jack: “You think idealism feeds anyone? The world’s built on compromise. Meals, money, politics — all of it’s the same dance. You think Nader’s clean? He eats too.”

Jeeny: “But he knows the difference between eating and consuming. You’ve forgotten that.”

Jack: “And what’s the difference, according to the high priestess of ethics?”

Jeeny: “Eating nourishes. Consuming empties. One sustains life, the other feeds ego.”

Host: Her words landed like quiet thunder. Jack looked down at his plate — the steak now cold, blood pooling near the edge like evidence. He pushed it aside, his appetite fading beneath her conviction.

Jack: “You think you’re better because you don’t sell things?”

Jeeny: “No. I just don’t sell meaning.”

Jack: “Meaning doesn’t pay the bills.”

Jeeny: “No. But it pays for sleep.”

Host: The restaurant’s laughter dimmed as a jazz pianist began a slow, mournful tune. The notes curled through the air like smoke, wrapping around their silence.

Jack: “You make it sound like success is sin.”

Jeeny: “Not success. Excess.”

Jack: “So where’s the line, then?”

Jeeny: “The line is where comfort turns into cruelty. Where profit eats empathy. Where you start calling privilege strategy.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching beneath restraint. The faint shimmer of candlelight reflected in his grey eyes, turning them sharp, almost metallic.

Jack: “You think the world can survive on purity? Every hospital, every school, every charity you admire runs on corporate money. You want change? You need the system you despise.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? That we’ve built a world where morality can’t survive without marketing. Where even generosity needs a tax deduction to exist.”

Jack: leaning forward, voice lower “You talk like I’m the problem.”

Jeeny: “You’re not the problem, Jack. You’re just the symptom. You’re what happens when we mistake cleverness for conscience.”

Host: The pianist hit a soft dissonant chord, the sound lingering like a bruise. The rain continued, relentless, but softer now — almost meditative.

Jack: “You really think separating calories from corporations will fix anything? You’ll still have greed. You’ll still have hunger.”

Jeeny: “No, but at least we’ll stop pretending one feeds the other.”

Jack: “You want honesty? Fine. People don’t want justice. They want comfort. They want their wine refilled and their guilt excused. The world doesn’t run on ethics, Jeeny — it runs on appetite.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe appetite is the disease. We keep feeding it like it’s progress. But the more we consume, the hungrier we become.”

Host: The waiter came by to clear the plates. Jack waved him off. Jeeny offered a small nod of thanks, her manners defying the war unfolding across the table.

Jack: “You think simplicity is salvation?”

Jeeny: “No. I think conscience is.”

Jack: “Conscience doesn’t build skyscrapers.”

Jeeny: “But it keeps them from crushing people.”

Host: The lights dimmed slightly as the pianist shifted into something slower — melancholy and rich. Outside, the rain turned to mist, and the reflections on the glass shimmered like painted tears.

Jack: “You really think the system can change?”

Jeeny: “I think we can. Systems don’t eat, Jack — people do. People make choices.”

Jack: “And you think people will choose decency over comfort?”

Jeeny: “Eventually. When comfort stops filling them.”

Host: The candles flickered low. Jack sat back, silent now, his hand resting beside his glass of wine. He didn’t drink. The sound of a knife against a plate somewhere nearby sliced through the moment — precise, lonely.

Jack: “You always have to make everything sound moral.”

Jeeny: “Maybe because everything is.”

Host: He exhaled slowly, the fight leaving his voice. The rain had stopped, leaving behind the hush of clean streets and distant car lights.

Jack: “You know... maybe Nader was right. Maybe the real issue isn’t the deduction — it’s the delusion. We turn indulgence into virtue.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “And we call virtue impractical.”

Jack: “You really think there’s hope for us?”

Jeeny: “There’s always hope. It’s just bad for business.”

Host: The pianist played his final note — soft, aching, unfinished. The last flame on their table guttered, then steadied.

Jack looked down at the cold meal before him, then pushed the plate away completely.

Jeeny reached across the table and took his hand — no sermon, no judgment, just quiet presence.

For the first time all evening, Jack’s shoulders loosened. He looked out the window, at the city lights winking through the mist.

Jack: “Separation of calories and corporations…” he repeated softly, half to himself. “Maybe we just need to start with separation of greed and grace.”

Jeeny: “That’s the real deduction.”

Host: Outside, a neon sign flickered to life — OPEN ALL NIGHT — bathing them in red and gold. The world outside moved on, oblivious.

But inside, at that small table by the rain-streaked window, two souls had quietly renegotiated something larger than profit — the value of simply being human.

And as the last candle burned down to its end, the city seemed, for just a breath, a little less hungry.