My father and I were sitting in our usual diner. The bearded host gave us a booth seat with a view of Route 18. Nice.
The staffing is limited as today is MLK day. I believe they forgot (or wanted to forget) that we hadn’t ordered.
My father gets a turkey burger with rice on the side, sans horrid coleslaw, and I a grilled chicken salad. I try to divert my eyes from the congealed balsamic dressing.
My father is relaying his boss’s money-making schemes and ideas as I look out onto the bustling highway, thinking about what this year can offer. Hopefully more than this dressing.
Prompt from the Weekly Writing Challenge