Thorn
Meeting
Then
Every weekend, I work the night shift at a diner in downtown Pittsburg. With college and studying fucking up my sleep schedule and taking up my weekdays, I am left to cram all my non-school related time into working to cover the bills.
Every Friday night at 10:40 p.m., a man walks in; his knuckles wrapped in fabric, sweat soaking his hair and white tank top. He’s got biceps practically the size of his head and a glare strong enough to make someone drop dead from it alone.
Every Friday night at 10:40 p.m., a man sits at the counter and keeps me company, offering a warm, tired smile.
He orders coffee and a water, and always leaves a $10 bill on his receipt that only totals $2.37. He’s never told me his name, and he never talks much. After a few weeks of meeting him, he tells me he works out at Colt’s gym a few blocks away. I ask now why he’s left to exercise at such bizarre hours.
He smiles and keeps his eyes down at his coffee. “My mind’s as active as my body is.”
Tonight, he’s chattier than usual, verging on happy even. It’s nearly two in the morning, past the end of my shift, and the diner is otherwise empty apart from the two of us and the cook, John, so I sit on the chair next to him. He tells me how he fights for a living, but nothing big.
“If there’s paparazzi there, I ain’t doing it,” he emphasizes. “Did a big MMA tournament a couple years back, but I’m not makin’ the same mistake.”
A few young customers, teenagers, walk in, and I can’t fight back a sigh. He laughs. I make myself get up and plaster a fake smile on my face as I take their orders. Hannah’s late for her shift yet again, and I’m beginning to lose my temper.
When I head back to the counter to give John the order, I notice the man is missing, but there’s a $10 bill where he was. I smile to myself as I walk over to the register to put in the $10 and take out change for myself. Hannah walks in then, her blue hair in a bun and her cheeks pale from the cold air outside.
“Thanks for being punctual as per usual,” I say bitterly and take off my apron. I stuff the tips for the evening in my jean pocket and clock out.
“I owe you one!” she calls out to me as I walk out the door.
As I walk to my car I see him walking up the small hill.
“Hey!” I yell, running up to catch up to him. He turns around and smiles at me. “I never get the chance to thank you.” His smile falters, but a small smirk replaces it.
“For?”
I smile. “Your overly generous tips.”
He nods. “You provide overly generous service.”
We stand there for a moment.
“Well, thank you again. Have a good night,” I say awkwardly, turning around to head to my car. His hand lightly grasps a hold of my elbow to keep me from walking. He gives me a sheepish smile.
“We should see each other more,” he offers. I smile back and nod, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. I give him my cell phone for him to put his number in, but he shakes his head.
“I don’t have a cell phone,” he tells me. “You want to meet me here this afternoon, around 3?” I nod once more and we turn around to head to our own ways.
After a few steps, I pause and turn around.
“You never told me your name,” I yell. He turns around, and even though the street light isn’t on him anywhere, I swear he’s still smiling.
“It’s Tommy.”
Every weekend, I work the night shift at a diner in downtown Pittsburg. With college and studying fucking up my sleep schedule and taking up my weekdays, I am left to cram all my non-school related time into working to cover the bills.
Every Friday night at 10:40 p.m., a man walks in; his knuckles wrapped in fabric, sweat soaking his hair and white tank top. He’s got biceps practically the size of his head and a glare strong enough to make someone drop dead from it alone.
Every Friday night at 10:40 p.m., a man sits at the counter and keeps me company, offering a warm, tired smile.
He orders coffee and a water, and always leaves a $10 bill on his receipt that only totals $2.37. He’s never told me his name, and he never talks much. After a few weeks of meeting him, he tells me he works out at Colt’s gym a few blocks away. I ask now why he’s left to exercise at such bizarre hours.
He smiles and keeps his eyes down at his coffee. “My mind’s as active as my body is.”
Tonight, he’s chattier than usual, verging on happy even. It’s nearly two in the morning, past the end of my shift, and the diner is otherwise empty apart from the two of us and the cook, John, so I sit on the chair next to him. He tells me how he fights for a living, but nothing big.
“If there’s paparazzi there, I ain’t doing it,” he emphasizes. “Did a big MMA tournament a couple years back, but I’m not makin’ the same mistake.”
A few young customers, teenagers, walk in, and I can’t fight back a sigh. He laughs. I make myself get up and plaster a fake smile on my face as I take their orders. Hannah’s late for her shift yet again, and I’m beginning to lose my temper.
When I head back to the counter to give John the order, I notice the man is missing, but there’s a $10 bill where he was. I smile to myself as I walk over to the register to put in the $10 and take out change for myself. Hannah walks in then, her blue hair in a bun and her cheeks pale from the cold air outside.
“Thanks for being punctual as per usual,” I say bitterly and take off my apron. I stuff the tips for the evening in my jean pocket and clock out.
“I owe you one!” she calls out to me as I walk out the door.
As I walk to my car I see him walking up the small hill.
“Hey!” I yell, running up to catch up to him. He turns around and smiles at me. “I never get the chance to thank you.” His smile falters, but a small smirk replaces it.
“For?”
I smile. “Your overly generous tips.”
He nods. “You provide overly generous service.”
We stand there for a moment.
“Well, thank you again. Have a good night,” I say awkwardly, turning around to head to my car. His hand lightly grasps a hold of my elbow to keep me from walking. He gives me a sheepish smile.
“We should see each other more,” he offers. I smile back and nod, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. I give him my cell phone for him to put his number in, but he shakes his head.
“I don’t have a cell phone,” he tells me. “You want to meet me here this afternoon, around 3?” I nod once more and we turn around to head to our own ways.
After a few steps, I pause and turn around.
“You never told me your name,” I yell. He turns around, and even though the street light isn’t on him anywhere, I swear he’s still smiling.
“It’s Tommy.”
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28 subscribers already! Amazing. Totally amazing. Thanks so much, guys. That's awesome. And the feedback on the last update was incredible! The next few updates will switch between past and present to give you a little insight. :) Thank you SO much to these people for commenting on the last update: Selina_Kyle, Hannah1007700, ginger, degxusser, and SerenitySpeaker.