The dream died as a woman shouted her order through the grease-spattered window of Eddie’s grill.
“Yes ma’am, what’d you like on it?”
He resented the interruption, which returned him to the cafeteria from the world where daydreams floated on the tide of his consciousness. Eddie was an old short-order cook—a hard fate for a dreamer. He could handle fate: work when you have to; otherwise stay drunk. The day dragged stuffily on, the cafeteria fading in and out until closing time descended around his greasy forehead. He stopped for a bottle before stumbling to the tracks.
“Yes ma’am, what’d you like on it?”
He resented the interruption, which returned him to the cafeteria from the world where daydreams floated on the tide of his consciousness. Eddie was an old short-order cook—a hard fate for a dreamer. He could handle fate: work when you have to; otherwise stay drunk. The day dragged stuffily on, the cafeteria fading in and out until closing time descended around his greasy forehead. He stopped for a bottle before stumbling to the tracks.
