Dinner

She sits alone at a booth in a corner. Picking at her gnocchi, she sometimes thinks that they look like fat, little maggots in cream sauce. Delicious little maggots. She looks up from her plate to listen in on the thoughts of those sitting at the bar, or, maybe, the thoughts of the couple sitting in front of her. They huddle together on the same side of the booth. 'That's odd,' she thinks. She spears a creamy maggot and listens. One woman counts how many minutes are left till dinner will be over and she can leave her date who drones on about his business practices and substantial income. He has a constant hum of sex in his brain. She frowns at the plastered smile on the woman's face.  'He's not wretched looking. Why do you want to escape?'
 

A couple long sips of alcohol wash down a gnocchi or two. 'I wonder if maggots taste like potato pasta.' A constant buzzing of sex and social regret become boring, so she focuses her energy on the waitress. Did the woman feed her cat? The waitress can't remember and so worries about the last hour or so of her shift. Her feet hurt. 'You have a s****y job. Are you tired?' Yes, and not really liking the fact that she has six black ladies at one of her set tables.
 

A two-layer tiramisu ends up on her table some time between when the racist waitress' thoughts had been thought and when an interracial gay couple had sat in the booth across from her. 'They're cute.' But she's a little disturbed to see grey hair on their heads.
 

The date must be over. Two empty bar stools wait to be kept warm. The tiramisu was soaked in way too much espresso, so she sticks her spoon vertically into the uneaten portion. She sighs. She has a racist...and slow...waitress. Which vice is worse?

The check is too high. 'Stupid capitalism.' For a moment she was tempted to just exit out the door convenient to her booth, but she is an okay person. Did she really have that many drinks? Gives a small tip. She can't quite get past that the waitress is a racist. Pauses while she marks down the three dollars and cents. 'Maybe I should stop reading people's thoughts.'  The idea is shrugged off while a booth sits alone in a corner.

Reviews

[kumars]

nice work you writer, i always like your reading. carry on...