I was leaning against the tree by the half-wall instead of my usual spot, perched on a milk crate. My eyes were closed, hands rested on my bent knees, a cigarette hanging between my fingers. Even after seventeen years in the restaurant industry, ten of them at Stella’s, I was never really prepared for days like today. A line cook called out, the dish washer was fired, we had two catering orders to prepare before we even opened, and thirty open menus within the first hour.
I opened my eyes when i heard the scuff of shoes on pavement. “Halt! Who goes there?” I called out, putting on a Monty Python-esque accent. I turned my head to see Nica’s approaching figure over the tops of the bushes, her hand wrapped around her vape and held up to her mouth like a toddler sucking their thumb. She wave
