Mamie’s seemed overly bright and cheerful for Sean’s mission. The fluorescents hummed, and the white-and-aqua booths and tables were crowded with late-night revelers looking for greasy food to absorb the alcohol they had ingested. The waitresses, older women mostly, looked haggard, worn, and tired. The air smelled of old grease and, curiously, poppers.
One of those tired waitresses slammed a couple of waters down on the table before Sean and Rory. She had an upsweep of dyed red hair, a color that Sean realized could never occur in nature, a permanent scowl, and pince-nez glasses perched on the tip of a hooked nose. She hadn’t yet gotten the memo about blue eye shadow.
“What can I get you fellas? And yes…you have to order. Otherwise you need to clear out the booth and sit at the counter.”
