The diner is dark and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke permeates every corner of the place though smoking has been banned from restaurants for four years now. I slide into a booth and pretend to look at a menu. A chubby young waitress steps up to my table and asks what I’d like to eat. I tell her and she stand there, like she is waiting for more. When I say nothing else she sighs and walks away. I trace my finger through the thin layer of grease on the table. The same grease has probably been pushed around by a filthy rag every day for years.
My Writer's Cramp 