June 11, 2007
Quiet, no one around, a car goes by now and then. Floors washed, shelves stocked. The haunted steam table rattles now and then but doesn't talk to me about the future. The night ladies take off everything, uniforms, black shoes, leaving only the hair nets we dance around the restaurant, up onto the tables, waltzing with the mop into and out of the bathrooms, streamers of toilet tissues flung up to the fluorescent lights and fluttering down around us. A mythological moment - maenads dancing in a Formica forest, a casual observer risking the fate of Orpheus, caffeinated vengeance.