4 AM
Neon
digits beam into my subconscious from the nightstand.
I
jerk awake/smelling eggs and pancakes like mom never used to make.
Outside,
there’s no need for a jacket/it’s humid under the burning streetlights.
Pass
the corner/on my way to the diner…
A
huddle of leather jackets puff butts in the parking lot.
This place is always open.
An
uneven chair/more uneven because I sit on it.
My
waitress appears in a shroud of smoke, baring coffee-stained teeth.
“What’ll
ya’ have?”
Too much fraternizing in the kitchen/with
the customers.
“A
short stack, scrambled eggs & tall glass of chocolate milk,” I answer.
My
waitress jots down the order on her shirtsleeve.
Shortage of trees in the city/thus of paper.
From
the kitchen/crash of plates, glasses.
A thunderous
voice/meek apology.
Overhead
lights shine right down on you in here/no shrinking away.
Just like home but brighter.
I
pass a few minutes reading over the menu.
Bacon cheesebur…the g-e-r is covered in
spaghetti sauce.
“Here
you are.” A different waitress slides plates in front of me.
“Can
I get you anything else?”
I
shake my head.
The
scrambled eggs are sunny-side up.
No
matter/I’ll eat the frowning faces.
The
pancakes are a little burnt.
No
matter/what did I expect for $4.95?
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
The
chocolate milk is tasty, though. I wonder what kind of syrup they use?
The
good kind with the Rabbit or some off-brand?
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
Dark/thick
at the bottom; definitely the Rabbit.
“Here’s
your ticket,” says my second waitress, trying to hurry me.
It
must have been the first waitress/crashing plates and glasses.
Slowly,
I stand.
Always
at this time, I think of robbing the place.
But with what?
I
could stick my hand in my jacket pocket/point it outward/pretend I have a gun.
But
I’m not wearing my jacket.
Maybe next week.
I
leave $7 on the table and I’m out the door.
Still,
a huddle of leather jackets puff butts.
My
bowels loosen/I run back inside.
I push
open the crusty, dying door to the bathroom.
Smells
like my apartment/might as well wait.
Outside,
my first waitress has joined the huddle of butt puffers.
Puff, cough, hack, puff.
I
remember my step-grandfather gasping/emphysema took his last breath.
No
time for a skip down memory lane.
I’ve
got to get home/get some sleep.
Work is at dawn.