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March 5th, 2018

He was on his third plate when the young woman that had been serving him, pretty enough to be a model perhaps, decided to interrupt his meal.

“Can I get you any dessert sir?”

He just shook his head, knowing very well from the look in her eyes and the hand resting on her left hip that she was about to ask him something else. Instead of replying he just wiped at his mouth with his napkin, figuring that he’d worn out his welcome a full meal ago. The meatloaf had been pretty good, the chicken wasn’t too bad, but whoever was doing the cooking knew how to cook a steak like no one else. It had been done medium rare just as he’d asked and not burned to a crisp like some other joints he’d been to.

“Are you ready for the check then?”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head as he wadded up his napkin, “I’ll be going now.”

He was on his feet and heading towards the door before her shock wore off, the look of indignation he’d seen dissolving into something akin to desperation as she looked as though she wanted to follow him. Instead she called back to the kitchen for a guy named Sal, yelling that he hadn’t paid for his food and that he was on his way out the door.

“Hey punk!”

The bellow was about as deep as he’d expected. Turning around he wasn’t too disappointed to see a tall, burly man with a slight gut storming towards him, face reddened no doubt from working over a hot grill and from being incensed about his only customer’s sense of entitlement.

“Walk away,” he said as the big man, Sal, hefted something in his right hand. Thankfully it wasn’t a knife, but it was something that could do some serious damage if he let this happen. Sal didn’t seem to hear him though, grunting as he swung the meat tenderizer at him in a low arc that was no doubt meant to take him in the stomach. Maybe Sal wasn’t used to fighting anyone that could fight back. Oh well, life was full of surprises.

(to be continued)

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