Still drowsy from sleeping, still reeling from the exam, Dave entered the Wild West Steakhouse. It was almost three-thirty; though he was weary and preoccupied, he had to force himself to hurry, for his shift was about to start.
Without looking around or saying hello to anybody, he rushed past the dining room, the office, the line, hurtled straight back through the swinging door to the dishroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Larry Smith, working alone at the dishwashing machine, but he didn't have the time or the inclination to offer a greeting.
After changing into his uniform in the locker room and punching his timecard at the clock, Dave hastened to the fry station and went about his business, preparing for the imminent supper rush. As he occupied himself with
