The bell above the door jingled as Samantha pushed it open, and we stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was a large chalkboard near the register that read:
Today’s Specials:
Soup of the Day:
Chicken Noodle
Cream of Mushroom
Beef Barley
Margie’s Meatloaf $12.99 (Yes, it’s better than your mother’s.)
Turkey Club $10.99 (Stacked higher than gas prices.)
Chicken Pot Pie $11.99 (Made with real butter, heavy cream, and bad decisions.)
Breakfast Served All Day – Because adulting is hard.
Yes, Karen. We’re still out of pie. But delight yourself with the following:
Ice Cream (10 flavors)
Rice or Tapioca Pudding (Made from scratch)
Good God. Could this get any worse? I thought to myself. There wasn’t a marble surface in sight. The floors were worn hardwood that creaked every time someone walked across them. The walls were covered with local artwork, old concert posters, framed photographs of customers, and a corkboard with handwritten notes pinned to it.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked as we grabbed a booth near the back.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The disgusted look on your face tells me otherwise.”
“Hey, Sam.” A waitress walked by and smiled.
“Hey, Rita. How’s Howie feeling?”
“He’s a man-child, but he’ll be okay.” She laughed.
“Evening, kiddo.” A man sitting in the booth across from us held up his coffee mug.
“Hi, Frank. Did Chloe hear from NYU yet?”
“She got in.” He smiled.
“Excellent. Tell her I’m so happy for her and congrats.”
“I will, kiddo. How’s Zoey?”
“A teenager.”
He let out a bolstering laugh. “Enough said.”
“Do you know everyone here?” I asked.
“Pretty much. I’ve been coming here since I was ten, and I’ve been bringing Zoey here since she was a baby. So, Mr. Castile.” She pointed at me. “Don’t try to evict them.”
“I would in a heartbeat if I could,” I mumbled.
