A waitress tightens her apron, making her way across the floor to a man sitting in a booth at the far of the diner. His eyes are green and his hair is gold. He opens his mouth to smile, teeth white and sharp, glinting in the overhead light. She takes a deep breath, remembering to harden her “r’” on “order.”
WAITRESS: Can I take your order?
He tells her he’d like to rip her apart limb by limb, eating up the pieces of her life one year at a time.
WAITRESS: Would you like pita with that?
He would.
The waitress jots down his order, heading back towards the kitchen. A hostess with long neon fingernails grabs her arm.
HOSTESS: He’s so handsome.
The waitress hadn’t noticed.
HOSTESS: Would you say yes if he asked you out?
She would.
The waitress returns with a hot plate of cheese, lighting it on fire as she yells, “OPA!” She’s aware of her voice, how loud it must sound.
The man again reveals his sharp teeth, they’re dripping with hunger.
She places the hot cheese in front of him, the pita beside that.
MAN: Where are you from?
The waitress notes the painted wall beside him, complete with a flowered acropolis.
WAITRESS: Greece.
MAN: You like it better here?
So far.
The waitress visits another table before making her way back to the kitchen.
HOSTESS: He likes you. I can tell by the way he’s staring.
Okay.
HOSTESS: He’s so handsome. He looks like a movie star, like an American movie star.
The waitress returns to the man to drop off the check.
WAITRESS: Is there anything else I can get you?
I’ll take your arms and your legs, your torso and your neck, I’ll take a big bite out of your heart and spit the pieces onto your gooey brain so that they get stuck there. So that you’ll have to spend years picking the pieces of your heart out of your brain, just so you can think clearly again.
He slaps a $5 bill on top of the check. A gift.