smokin' | louigan

two

louise belcher was so short. she was five feet of pure sass and attitude, blessed with a devilish charm and quick wit. her black hair was short, resting at her collarbones, and her eyes were a dark shade of brown like the black coffee she drank every morning.

she scraped her black hair into two pigtails, flipping the lights on in the restaurant. the old burger joint was practically rusting with age:  the red booths were fraying and torn at the edges, the yellow paint on the tables chipped, the counter stained with something that looked like ketchup. but louise radiated a refreshing light of determination. her hardworking attitude rejuvenated the crusty place, turning the rundown restaurant into a popular stop among tourists and town dwellers.

before and after hours however, the building was empty. gene and tina were two hours away studying music and journalism. her parents had gone away on some cruise down to the caribbean. louise certainly did not miss their quirks, but she yearned for some company. she missed waking up to voices and going to sleep with them. all she heard was quiet.

as the days passed, words never really met the ears of louise (or the ears of her hat either). her small tan hands became calloused with every sweep of the broom, wipe of the towel, and flip of the burger. her lower back began to ache, and her eyes drooped with eternal fatigue.

but she continued. she kept flipping burgers and serving customers and stressing over the high rent. because if she didn't, who would?

with a groan, louise grabbed her apron and flipped the sign to open.