Coward Quitter

Shawn-The-Bastard saw the whole thing. Of course he did.

I was in the middle of my shift and it was pretty dead. My Tuesday regulars were all there: the four-top of sixty-somethings women who always look at my ass when I plug their orders into the computer, the two bald guys with the ties, and Janice, drunk as usual, ordering her burger plain, again as usual. I had made $38 so far, including a ten spot from some business muckety-muck type who ordered a salad and talked on his cell phone while he sipped his coffee. A pretty typical day.

Then she walked in.

I'm telling you, she wasn't human. Long dark red hair that fell to the middle of her back in crimson waves I wanted to swim in, green eyes like emeralds; big emeralds, too, not the cheap shit I can afford. And legs... my old man would have said she had legs for days. They were cream white and her skin looked so soft. She had a black skirt on, not too short, just right, you know? But her smile... I can't even tell you, I've never seen anything like it. She didn't light up the room, she softened it. It was like a snake charmer, like her smile hypnotized me and I couldn't move or think or breathe. I could have spent the rest of my shift just staring at that smile. Maybe the rest of my life.

It was Shawn-The-Bastard who woke me up. He caught me staring and told me to go take her order. He watched, snickering.

I walked to the table, pad and pen in hand; no way I was going to be able to memorize her order, my mind was in outer space. I stopped at the table, looked into her eyes, and forgot my name. She smiled. She said hello.

I walked out and drove to the beach.