Diner

The Diner
As I entered the joint, I saw him sitting on the bar stool. He was hunched over his drink, both hands wrapped around the chipped ceramic coffee mug. His eyes were fixed, glazed; he needed a shave.. His clothes were shabby and filthy between the wrinkles. I resisted the impulse to walk over to him. Better to wait. Size things up.
He gave no sign that he saw me, but I knew better. Even in his deteriorated state, I knew those blood shot eyes had sized me up the moment I walked through the door. I picked a booth and sat down where I could watch my mark watching me.
The waitress, apron stained with ketchup and grease, sauntered over. She was chewing and snapping gum like the world was going to end tomorrow. Maybe it would, that wasn't my call. I gave her my order. She swiped at the table with a dishrag, which looked blacker than my mood, then walked away. She swung her caboose like it was a thing to behold. Frankly I wouldn’t have recommended that to anyone I liked, but then again I don’t like anyone.
A fly buzzed and then landed on the table. I couldn’t help thinking it was probably the best thing on the menu. So I let it live.
The joint wasn’t exactly jumping. Counting the fly, there were only four of us.
I glanced up and saw the mark watching me. He was staring straight ahead at the stainless backdrop. It was filthier than the floor if that was possible. But, through the crud there was enough shine left for him to see me sitting in my booth; me and the fly.

I let my hand slip down to my jacket pocket. I felt it through the fabric, waiting. The waitress had returned, she dropped the plate she was carrying onto the table and stared at me, waiting for approval. I didn’t give any. She flounced and bounced her way back to the kitchen.

The fly hopped eagerly onto the plate’s edge and then dipped his head into the viscous brown fluid I supposed was gravy. He shook his head in disgust and took off.

The man got up. He dropped two bucks on the counter and made his way to the door. I was up before he reached it; my hand had already pulled it from my jacket pocket. He stepped back and snarled. I slapped the envelope into his hand.
“Served and witnessed.”

The Waitress was gone but there were three of us still present. He crumpled the envelop, tossed it on the floor, then brushed past me and slammed his way out the door. I hate this job, but a buck is a buck, right? I placed a fin on the counter, pushed open the door and stepped out into the warm afternoon sun.

The fly followed me out.