Damn turtles, he thought. Never can leave a body alone.
He chose a booth and sat down, resolutely ignoring the flippered reptile. A waitress with too-short hair came over and handed him a menu,which he did not bother to look at.
"Can I get you started with a drink?"
Damn waitresses, he thought. Never call a body 'sir' anymore.
"I want a water. With no lemon, do you hear me? Makes it taste funny."
"Okay- water, no lemon. Got it." She shoved her pen behind her ear and walked back toward the kitchen. The turtle, in the meantime, had floated up to hover above one of the fake palm trees.
"I'm not paying attention to you," he muttered. "So don't think that I am." It waved a fin in a languid manner, then did a very slow flip. Apparently it was in a mellow mood today. Well it could afford to be- nobody was following it around all hours of the night and day.
"Are you ready to order?" the waitress was back. She didn't say anything about the turtle- no one ever did.
"I want the pork barbeque. And some of that sweet bread! The last time I was in here the girl didn't give me any dang sweet bread!"
"No problem," She disappeared again, and he looked at his water. No lemon- but he could see a seed trapped between two pieces of ice. As if he couldn't tell when water'd been poured from a pitcher with lemons in it!
Damn waitresses.
He shifted around in his seat, glaring suspiciously at the other diners. He didn't like the look of that one fellow in the corner- beard like a hobo, that's what. Not at all respectable. Probably a hippie. Or a terrorist. The man had a camera, too.
Damn terrorists.
The turtle started to glide further up the ceiling, weaving in and out of the patterns painted into the plaster.
"Oh, you think you're clever, don't you?" he muttered.
"Sorry?" It was the waitress again, putting down a basket filled with sweet bread.
"Nothing," he snapped, and grabbed a piece of bread to shove in his mouth.
Damn turtles.
(Random Stranger)
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