Compliment to No One

Some days you just stare at shit like an outsider, like some half-crazed thing that doesn't understand how the world works. You stop at the wrong place in the wrong part of town on your way to some other place you don't really want to be.

The universe feels out of sync and it's not your fault. And as you stare at shit, you realize that blame isn't even part of the equation, not that this realization helps matters. It just adds another dimension to your staring.

“What's good here?” You're looking at the menu, she's looking at you like it's 8 a.m. and she wants to go home, which it is and she does.

“Pretty much nothing.”

“Okay, I'll have that.”

She doesn't crack a smile, probably hasn't in years. How did she get here? Not only the physical location but the mental state? Both are troubled places that would break the best of them, which he doubted she ever was.

“Say again?” she says. Fast, too.

“Two eggs over medium, side of bacon, black coffee.”

She takes your menu and walks away without a word.

A bell rings as the front door opens. An older gentleman with silver stubble and a trucker hat ambles in. You're surprised he ever left. He takes a seat without waiting, just takes it. He isn't the sort who waits, he's done that enough in life. Waitress is already pouring him coffee before his ass hits the chair.

You keep staring at shit. Paper napkin and mostly clean utensils scattered in front of you like some four-year-old set the table. You still don't want to go where you need to go, although this place makes it seem more appealing. It's a compliment to no one, least of all you.