<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/mDV66ep.jpg)</div><strong>Character:</strong>Oscar Valdez<br/><strong>Location/Time:</strong>Around 1230 Hundred Hours.  63 Wall Street, New York, New York.  Penthouse (Kitchen)<br/><strong>Attire:</strong>Blue-grey<del>business jacket and</del>slacks.  White dress shirt, sleeves rolled up Black shoes.  Black sunglasses.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Stephanie Kane<br/><br/><hr/><br/>“Food?  I don't smell food at all.” Oscar replied in a serious tone of voice.  “I smell a masterpiece.”<br/><br/>He nodded down to the bundle of goods and magazines in his arms.  “And this, my dear Stevie, is what I like to call a mix of a dream come true, good luck charms, and my guide to getting caught up on most of the things I missed.” He said, pulling out one of the magazines from the collection he had gotten.  “Like which Housewife from the Real Housewives is sleeping with whose husband and all of the baby drama.”<br/><br/>Oscar stepped inside the waiting elevator, putting a foot out in front of the door to keep it from closing.  “And if I get shit for it, I get shit for it.” He said.  “Maybe it will liven up the mood a bit.”<br/><br/>Once out of the elevator, and back inside the Penthouse, Oscar made his way back into the open kitchen.  His goods were deposited upon the granite-topped island of the kitchen, the assorted pile of candy, soda, and gossip magazine dumped haphazardly upon the surface before he turned his attention back to the pot of sauce still simmering upon the stove.  He stood over it, taking in a long inhale of the rich aroma that filled the kitchen.<br/><br/>“Hope you like real spaghetti, Miss Stevie.” Oscar announced as he gave the pot a good stir.<br/><br/>“If we make it out tonight, first thing I'm doing is investing in a spice garden.” He said.  “No more chopped up, dried shit.  I've wait two years for this, and I ain't going to cook again with that old, dried up shit in a tube.”