silent service resumes.
Gritted teeth carrying heavy plates. Breasts, tanned, tall slim curvy sparkles. An old man leans in, speaks closely to me, surprising that neither one of us wishes we were 18 again. These girls look so young. I flirt with the dish boy, my pores screaming for sex.
Not so bad. Free sushi.
3 days later and I’m driving home with sore feet, from afternoon tea service. Bedroom floor hasn’t been vaccuumed, clothes sat in the machine all day. With another 10-4 shift tomorrow. How quickly the focus shifts, as if there was no edible snowball rolling down a hill. My manager is cute; I take him pumpkin pie (the vaguest reminder that I have somewhere more important to be). Easily distracted, an old manager said once.
My training is almost complete. Then what? Parts of me shy away and hide inside. Apparently I’m hard-working, so that’s not the problem.
The sun sets in a downward dog over the surflifesaving club. 30 days of sunrises completed, now I worship the purple horizon at the end of the day.