Tuesday, January 04, 2011

Shy Ketchup

A Brooklyn cafe. Dusk. Sitting alone at a table near the front is a fat, gabby Puerto-Rican boy, and sitting at an adjacent table, also by herself, is a toothless, stringy-haired old lady.

Fat, Gabby Puerto-Rican Boy: You come here every day?

Toothless, Stringy-Haired Lady: [Nods slowly, while chewing.]

FGPRB: Is it expensive?

The TSHL shrugs, still chewing, and motions to her fruit cup.

TSHL: $3.50.

FGPRB: [nodding] Not bad...not bad...

The waitress arrives with the FGPRB's cheeseburger and fries. Though he tries to shake the ketchup onto his patty, nothing seems to come out of the bottle.

FGPRB: The ketchup getting shy.

The TSHL mumbles something.

FGPRB: I said the ketchup getting shy.

TSHL: [still chewing] Use a knife.

Before long, the TSHL pays her bill and gets up to leave. When she tries to button the top of her coat, strange little whimpers eek out of her mouth. She is trailed by the pungent odor of cat piss, and as soon as the door closes behind her, a bus boy comes to wipe down the chairs she was sitting on. The boy watches this quietly, sadly, taking slow bites of his overly-ketchuped burger.

THE END.


TSS: 8

1 comment:

Chris said...

LIKE button.