Unhappy Nighthawk

 

Again bending over to pull up the clean cutlery. Squeezing dish water out of the damp rag to swab down the counter again and again and again.

My conditioned arm describing the exact same circuits on the counter top, mopping up coffee rings, chasing down a crumb caught in a corner.

I smile a fake smile at the clientele - because it’s my job. And how smug they look. As if I really am fascinated by their banal conversation.

But I soldier on, because every tedious hour gives me another $10.

 

THE END

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Nonita Thomas
Aug 1 2020

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