“Aw, man! Ain’t you the most gorgeous thing?”

“See? I told yous this place was good! Service, and with such a beautiful smile!”

“You’re damn right! I’m sorry I ever doubted you!”

They cackle at each other like hyenas, the stench of alcohol shooting from their mouths like untimely fireworks. They have already forgotten about Tiffany, the object of their enjoyment, who remains standing right in front of them. She waits with a hand on her hip until she realizes their attention is long gone.

She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. Excu— . . . Excuse me, gentlemen!”

They look back at her, wonder filling their eyes as though they are just seeing her for the first time.

“Hey there, gorgeous!”

“What’s up, cutie?”

“Yeah! Whatcha need, doll?”

“Hey, you got a boyfriend?”

“I asked if you would like a table for two,” Tiffany repeats.

“Huh?”

“We’s in a food establishment, man.”

“We is? Oh, shit! I remember now. I was hungry!”

“So was I!”

“So a table for two?” Her throat tenses up.

A scoff. “Well, duh!”

She ignores their resumed cackles, her discomfort swelling as she walks them over to a table. She hopes they are still following her—she doesn’t want to have to re-collect their attention. She would probably just abandon them if so.

But probably not.

They are a few staggering steps away but trailing. She guides them to a booth. They catch up and each takes an opposing seat.

“Alrighty, what can I start you two off with to—”

“Look, doll, we already knows what we wants.”

“Yeah, gimme a milkshake. Chocolate.” A sloppy wink.

“Ooh, yeah. Get me one a them too!”

They pick up their menus from the table, squinting as if they were written in a foreign language. Tiffany stands with her pen still pressed against her pad in anticipation.

“And to eat?” she asks.

“Just come back to us with those shakes. We’ll tell yous after.” A hand waves, dismissing her.

Tiffany clicks her pen and slides it and the pad back into her skirt apron. She hesitates, watching the men struggle incredulously before turning away.

Fucking morons.

She walks back behind the counter to the milkshake machine and flicks the switch on—one of the few pieces of machinery that isn’t covered in rust or dust. It greets her with a soporific whir, its resonating hum putting her into a trance. She welcomes the sound into her ears, letting it drown out the customers’ words. She plays it like an instrument, thinking about all the cleaning the kitchen could still use. All of that deep scrubbing, trying to reach the grime that managed to sink so far into the grout. Beyond reach if not for maybe—

“Hey,” Ness whispers, having quietly stepped up behind her.

“Jesus! Ness!” Tiffany reacts, nearly knocking over a glass. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry, sorry. But keep ya voice down. Ya so damn loud.”

“Well? What the hell do you want?”

“Are you okay? They seem like pricks.”