EIGHT
Angie swept the dishes, silverware, and cups from the table into the plastic bin and hauled them off to the kitchen. This was a heavy load, so she was careful not to step in grease or a stray onion peel on the floor. She had already taken a tumble due to sliding on grease. Since then, she always wore rubber soled shoes.
“Want me to get these in the dishwasher?” she asked the tall man next to her.
Brian was a big guy, both in height and girth. Since he wasn’t presently cooking, he didn’t have a hat or hairnet covering his short brown hair. Angie thought her boss ate too many of his burgers. And fries. But he was a decent man to work for, and not bad looking. Clean shaven with even features, his age she guessed to be thirty. His full name printed on the occupational license hanging
