This Won't Be Easy

Chapter 3

Greasy's was just what you'd expect: greasy. It was an old  style diner with big leather booths, and sassy waitresses. When he arrived, the owner (Greasy) told him "your late. "
"But sir", replied Javier, "My shift doesn't start till 6:30". He glanced at the clock on the wall. It barely broke 6:00.
"That being said, you could always use the extra pay, eh, Javi'?" He replied. Then laughed, and said "Good. Now that you're here, you can get your lazy ass to work!" Javier slouched into the kitchen, and turned on the light. He grabbed his apron off the peg on the wall and tied it on. He looked around at the small, cramped, dirty kitchen. He eyed the roach that ran under the stove. He hoped the inspector didn't see them when he came. The diner was in enough trouble as it was. Javier liked greasy. He was a pretty good guy, and he was always ready to offer advice. However, their was one downside. He had made some bad decisions in his youth, and got rolled up in gangs and drugs. Javier didn't know much, but between what greasy had told him, and what he had figured out on his on, greasy was in trouble. He was involved in gangs and drugs in his youth. Once he was caught, he ratted out the top gang leaders in exchange for being let off with a warning. Now, countless gangs were out to get him, so he disappeared. Only he knew his real name. Only his friends called him Greasy. All of this flashed through his mind as went back to getting ready for the breakfast rush, and got ready for his first of three six-hour shifts.
     The day was uneventful, but that was to be expected. The diner was a decent place during the day, but when the night comes there was sometimes trouble. That was when all the old drunks in town came pouring in by the bus full. After four am., when the diner closed, people came pouring out, reeling from the sheer number of drinks they had consumed. With so many drunk drivers, accidents were commonplace. The cops didn't do anything about it. Sometimes they were the heaviest drinkers. They could get into their patrol car and roll down the street, singing at the top of their voices, dead drunk. And the worst was the women. As he was bushing tables and cleaning dishes late into the night, he saw them. Short skirts, fishnet stockings, high heels, and tight tube tops. They went around, promising men the night of their lives... For the right price. Javier didn't blame them. Everyone in that neighborhood was poor. They all did whatever they could to put bread on the table. Prostitution wasn't exactly a respectable job, but out of the jobs they had available it paid pretty well, and they couldn't be picky. When he finally went to leave, at around 12:30, he saw men screaming, laughing, crying, and knocked unconscious by the booze. Still, it was commonplace. He slowly exited the door, and walked back down the street.