• Lucky Me, I See Ghosts •

The Expiration Date

His name wasn't Lucky, but they called him that a lot, after- and by they I mean everyone. He was a good kid.

One day he was in high school, he was 16, everything was going good for him, but it seems that day would be his last normal one.

He was in band and school just got out him and his friends were out side the school.

Looking over, Lucky saw a prostitute from across the street, at the seven-eleven. She was light blonde with a thick drown coat on. She was wearing fish nets and it was a windy day so the coat made some sense, but other than the slight wind it was warm, too warm for a winter day.

He walked home, so he had to pass the seven-eleven, the woman fallowed him down the sidewalk, "So, you play an instrument?" She had a slight country accent.

"Oh, Yeah I play the trumpet."

"Sick." She takes a bite of a powdered donut.

Lucky stayed quite and walked as she chewed. Walking down the sidewalk, she walks in the road. He looks back as she runs bast a black car that honks at her, she gets in.

Once Lucky got home he got his cat, Sweet Tart, some water. "Good girl." The cat meow at him, saying hello.

He sat at the table, working on his homework, close to nine-thirty he got up and took a shower. After that it was almost time for bed.

His parents weren't home, probably at some hotel, they were gone often. They would leave for months on end and come back for less than a week before leaving again.

Lucky made himself a snack, before going to bed.

In the early morning- six A.M, he had to get ready for work. He rushed, straight to the bathroom. He worked at a diner, it had a very strict dress code for workers. He put on his work apron,-bon appetit, Darlings Diner- it had the diners name on it with his name tag that pokes him when he lifts his arms.

He rushed out the door with his bag, he didn't want to make his boss mad. Most of the other workers there were women, not the cooks, though. He came in though the back," 'Bout time, Naoh." One of his co-workers, Lori, sat on a stool. She was a heavy, black woman, she had taught Lucky everything, from clean tables faster, to quickly put the coffee creamers back in the cup correctly.

"Best get to work, son."

He hung his bag on the loose hook, next to a dirty mirror. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a towel; put it in the pocket in his apron.

His job was to take orders and clean tables after words. He waited the two ttwo tables, before he saw the, prostitute from yesterday.

He wasn't allowed to start small talk, but he knew she might, considering, she wasn't bothered to talk to others like she knew them. "Can I get you a drink to start?"

He held a pen and a note pad. "Yo, trumpet guy, You work at this shit-hole?"

"Yep, it has it's flaws." He smiled.

"Well, you're lucky, I robbed this guy, Three-fifty in the pocket." She went into a thick brown coat next to her in the booth, and took out two fifty dollars bills,"I plan on a coffee, and eggs- scrambled, please." She slammed the two fifties on the table hard.

He scribbled the down and left to clip it on the wire, so the cooks can read it. He took the five plates on the counter and took it a different table. Behind the counter, a man in his thirties sat at the stools with a little girl, that had pig tales, in her dark brown hair was up tight.

"Can I start you off with anyth-"
"A milkshake, with sprinkles and strawberry shortcake." The man had a deep demanding voice.

"Okay." He scribbled it down fast and stuck it on the wire, the bell rings as he does.