Neon Taco

It presented an odd cast the sign above the Help-Wanted sign did.
Perhaps a strand of melted cheese or lettuce was on the fritz.
It appeared to have been bitten into.
The waitress points to a guy in the corner booth.
I tell the guy I’ve washed dishes in Nebraska once.
He was not awfully concerned what with where but so hands me an apron.
The morning residual is piled teetering in the back in the sink.
I find the radio and turn the water to hot and on.
I used to catch hell out of the Dolly Varden out back of Happy’s Inn.
This place is not like that.
The waitress is deciding to have an issue with spoons.
She is questioning the current availability of clean ones.
I don’t know what to tell her I tell her.
She appears quite flustered, like she could almost not give a crap.
My father loading shot-gun shells tells me the one about expectations, and well…shuddered in the end I suppose.
The crates outback are for smoking, or at the least to sit on while you smoke, but you get the picture.
The dog is roaming and she is leaning. The woman with the convertible and the dog back here are roaming and leaning.
She does not appear flustered. Pleasant almost at a distance.
She says she is headed up to Moab.
Her and Monkey Wrench.
A copy of Updike’s A&P to read naked and aloud upon the sandstone.
Tuna sandwich packed water and such she says.
I tell her the patty melt, that I was considering the patty melt for lunch.


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