Tiffany looks behind at the two, watching them turn their menus in circles. She turns back to the machine. “Pricks, yes. Paying customers, also yes. They’re fine, Ness. They’re not going to rob the place. They can’t even hurt a fly.”

“Ya sure? They ain’t fakin’?” Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head and quickly dart back and forth between Tiffany and the table.

“I highly doubt they’re faking.” Tiffany chuckles to herself. “Aw, shit!” She flicks her finger. A glob of chocolate milkshake spits out onto the counter. “Dammit! It overflowed. Get me a rag, will you?”

Tiffany blindly holds out her hand. Plop! A heavy, wet substance falls into her palm. From its dripping ick, she knows it smells rancid and will dirty more than it can clean.

“Jesus, Ness. A clean rag! I can’t wipe down the glasses with this rat!”

“Okay, okay!” Ness responds defensively. She bends over and pulls out a clean rag from the bottom drawer, handing it off.

Tiffany nods. “Thanks.” She polishes up the overflowing glasses, making sure not to miss a spot.

A gruff voice behind them calls: “Hey! Where’re the milkshakes, ladies? I can see yous both bickering back there! What kinda customer service is this?”

“Tiff! You said they was harmless,” Ness whispers, her body shaking like a traumatized chihuahua.

Tiffany freezes for a moment, Ness’s anxiety pouring into her. “They are. Just don’t respond.”

With steady hands, Tiffany stakes a plump cherry and a straw into each shake. She places the glasses on a black tray and walks them over to the table.

There, she stumbles and nearly drops everything to the floor.

They’re watching me.

But when she looks up from her blunder, she sees that they aren’t. That they’re laughing to each other like brainless animals.

So why does she feel so unnerved?

She regains her balance and makes it the rest of the way, her stomach descending with every step.

“Here you go.”

She sets their milkshakes in front of them and they drag them to their chests to take a sip.

“Damn, that’s a good shake.” Lips smack.

“Are yous surprised? Look who made it!”

The men turn to her simultaneously and grin.

The room is dark, but at this angle, the dim neon lights highlight their swollen, red faces as they try to keep their eyes uncrossed long enough to look at her. Their upper bodies sway back and forth. Tiffany grows nauseous from the motion.

No, these grins aren’t what’s making her uncomfortable. She’s faced grins like these before.

She averts her eyes and pulls her pad and pen from her skirt apron. They watch her, then turn to each other and roar laughter onto their drinks—as if this diner wasn’t covered in enough of their saliva. She scrunches her face in disgust as the glasses sweat spit.

“Doll, what’s a gorgeous girl like you doing waitressing in a rundown place like this?”

She clicks her pen and presses the ballpoint to the page. The yellow pad drinks in the black ink. “Taking your order, sweetheart.” She flashes them a sweet smile, holding back the itch in her throat that begs to tear wide open into a shriek. “Now, is there anything else I can get you two?”