The bacon popping on the griddle punctuated the drunk obscenities like some Morse code. Fuckin’ pop pop Shit pop.
“Pull two sausage and a hashbrown to go!”
Carol plodded around on knees replaced a decade ago. Her face was wrinkled from years of hard work and play. Only another hour ’til her next cigarette break.
The jukebox had been playing “Red Solo Cup” on repeat for the last 45 minutes. It was 3AM. A girl with three guys in the booth closest to the bathroom passed out face first into her grits. The guy sitting next to her plucked her g string before sitting her upright.
Billy had been on the grill since 5pm. Antonio called out earlier. Sweat dripped onto eggs as he skillfully flipped them high into the air. A zen-ful grace permeated his every outward move. Inwardly, he was dying to snort some more crank off the top of the toilet.
A man dressed like a professor sat at the counter with a coffee and a pecan pie. He filled out yesterday’s crossword and muttered under his breath. No one could tell if he was insane–or only crazy.
Kayla pranced around and flirted for tips. She could make a patty melt sound so sexy. Her drawl bespoke her lack of education, but with legs like that, who needs schooling?
The doors have no locks here. Bring us your tired, your hungry, your befuddled masses. We’re always open.
Author: Uzi McAllister