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Weekly Contest #31
Like a knife, warm and wet from the dishwasher, sliding into the block, I guided my car over two lanes onto the exit onto the route towards the exit to home. My feet and legs and butt and lower and upper back hurt from work: carrying plates, both with food and with the remains of food, and drinks while managing a guest’s expectations ran the body ragged. On this drive home, while morning is still dark, it rained and the rain fogged my windshield. I cursed. “Fuck,” I said through lockjaw. I was about to cry as I pulled down the ramp onto the ...
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