All Frank Wanted Was a Beer

All Frank wanted was a beer. It was hot inside the kitchen, and his shift was over. His white paper hat slid forward. He pulled it off the rest of the way. 

“Make sure you clock out Frankie.”

Tammy said as she swayed past holding a legal pad. Her cropped denim jacket had rhinestones on the back and they reflected a wonky constellation on the wall behind her. She was an alright old bird, and a decent boss, even if she did tend to squeeze a dime, as Shelly’d say, till it screamed.

Shelly as if by some miraculous cue walked by him carrying a tray. He slowed down to let her walk ahead of him. She bent at the waist to bus the table. He paused to take out a cigarette from his pack.

“If you keep making that face, it’ll get stuck that way.”

She stood and turned to look at him.

He raised his eyebrows .

“You know your free pass to all of this” he gestured to his torso “is still good.”

Shelly rolled her eyes.

“Once is enough.”

He stepped closer to her.

“If I remember correctly, once was not enough, neither was twice.”

She threw the damp rag at his face, the acrid tang of ammonia stung his nostrils.

She swept past him, and quipped

“Well what’s a girl to do if you can’t do it right the first time.”

He stepped into he diner doorway.

“Bitch.”

“See you at the bar asshat.” She yelled from the kitchen.

Stepping onto the avenue, the heat seemed less oppressive, though it was only a little cooler than in front of the grill. The lit match burnt green, then yellow.

Tonight was going to be a good night, he could feel it.