@fckuupâââ / liked.
theyâve got him working out front again. the third time this week, as if theyâve forgotten he clocks in every morning to cook. he wouldnât mind the last-minute shift coversâthey never tell him anything until after heâs done prepping ingredients, funnily enoughâif it were any other job. not that the diner has much to choose from, but waiting on tables before noon is timothyâs own personal hell. according to the analog clock above the kitchen window, itâs half past ten. only two hours into his shift and he canât help but feel a flash of irritation every time the bell chimes and signals another customer. he doesnât even need to look up and confirm it anymore, just bell and irritation, immediately and in that order, like heâs pavlovâs disgruntled waiter. heâs glad that the one other wait staff on duty is responsible for seating patrons and handing off menus. at this point, the reprieve between the bell tinkling and dragging his feet to take orders feels necessary.
for the latest patron, he gets three minutes in the in-between, spent refilling a coffee mug after some serious attempts at making eye contact. (timothy doesnât do check-ins and asking if everythingâs okay; this is the only diner in town, they can either eat or go home.) but as soon as heâs returned the coffee pot to its warmer, he makes his way to the newly occupied table, fishing for his notepad and pen. however, âsoonâ in this case looks more like wading through water, movements slow, slowing, slower until he stops to a standstill. his sporadic sleep scheduleâslept two hours thursday, five hours friday, not at all yesterdayâmirrored in his gaze as he flips to a fresh page and looks at the man in the booth.
    âwhat do you want?â
