I’m waiting in line at the bank to deposit my paycheck. Normally I handle my finances online but, since the Bistro doesn’t offer direct deposit, I have to make this trip at least once a week. As usual there’s only one teller working the floor.
The night’s over. I limp out of the Bistro and start walking towards my car. It was a brutal shift. I must’ve served over fifty people. My feet ache and my right knee hurts whenever I put pressure on it. Maybe I need new shoes.
I’ve been gone a few days getting some R&R. I’ll post a new story tomorrow. Many readers have written to inform me that the story Aaron Broussard told Tim Russert on Meet the Press, which was the catalyst for my story “The God Who Drowns,”
It’s a miserable summer day. The mercury’s hovering around 96 degrees and the humidity’s making it feel like 106. Our customers aren’t gonna cook in this heat so the Bistro’s packed. All the warm bodies, combining with equatorial temps and the kitchen’s blast furnace ovens,