she asked if i liked to drink beer and play pool.
"yes," i said. drinking coffee black. two splendas.
she started talking about new mexico. she wanted to leave. go to california. matter of fact, her band was playing a gig in stockton, ca soon.
"oh stockton," said a man. he was sitting to my left. he put down his fork. pancakes and bacon, they waited.
"stocktons big time," he continued. "been there once, big time."
she smiled. "yeah, stockton."
i dont remember what she looked like. im sorry. just a non-descript girl, working the late shift at a denny's in albuquerque, NM. and she must of saw something in me. a connection.
the tattoos. the disheveled look. the 1000-yard stare i directed towards the indian cooking hash behind the counter. maybe it was the journal i was scribbling in. trying to write a new story.
but this girl spoke up. said hello. and we talked.
the coffee was good. suitable. black and hot. thats all i drank. she refilled it five times. the cups were small.
"pigs ina blankit!" said the indian. "up!"
she retrieved it. as she did, i pocketed a handful of splenda packets.
she came back.
"must really like splenda, huh?" she said.
"im a diabetic," i said.
she was sorry to hear that.
"me too, " i said.
a customer caught her attention and although she stood directly in front of me, her eyes were looking to right.
i took the opportunity to scrutinize her non-descript face.
eyes; they sat deep.
nose; it breathed.
mouth; it opened, noise came out.
a girl. probably in her early 20s. the apple of some diesel mechanics eye. pretty.
more customers entered.
albuquerque's youth. she served them. i sat, drinking my coffee.
read a book:
power screenwriting.
the hero's journey; the path to redemption; change; approaching the cave; the conflict within; and finally the impact on the world.
she came back.
a new pot of coffee. she poured. her mouth opened.
"in a couple months stockon," she said.
"yes," i said. "lots of stuff in stockon."
another order came up. chicken fried steak with a side of seasoned fries.
she got it. i finished my coffee. black, with two splendas.
as i ante'd up with the cashier, she grabbed me by the arm.
"dont got a phone, but if i can get yers, maybe we can grab a bud later."
"sure, " i said. "i like getting wasted."
so i gave her my number and said i would return later that night.
"dont sleep much nowadays," i said.
neither did she. "the heat," she said. "its unbearable."
i waved goodbye. smiled. exited.
the heat of the new mexico came over me quickly. stifling. one almost forgets what cold feels like. deep inside your chest.
driving back to a friends apartment, i rolled down the window and let the breeze hit my face. it was cool. but not cold. i pulled my car up near a dance club.
turned off my lights and watched. the youth. happily coupled. holding.
love, i guess.
so i sat there in my car like some deranged taxi driver, smoking cigarettes, hoping to see something. find something. somebody. connect.
after an hour or so i ran out of cigarettes.
headed back dennys.
i saw her, my waitress, outside drinking a pepsi. bottle type. she was waiting.
but i didnt stop. never came back. just drove in the dark to my friends place.
my waitress, well, she never did call.
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