Open Late

|| One ||

I jumped awake at the sound of a blaring alarm, frantically sitting up as I struggled to figure out what was happening. After looking around the bare room, I wiped the strands of hair away that had been matted down with sweat on my forehead. I had frightened myself so much that I felt like throwing up. Rubbing my eyes, I turned to the nightstand and shut off the loud alarm clock and fell back against my headboard. Even two weeks in, I didn't recognize the room I woke up in every day. It didn't feel familiar enough.
My fingers loosely grasped the bottle of scotch from last night as I walked into the kitchen, pressing the rim to my lips. I stared down at the clear bottle in distaste, realizing how wrong it felt in my hands when it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. It felt so wrong, but nothing that I could think of would feel right.
I pulled my dress pants out of the small dresser, one of the few pieces of furniture in the entire apartment. It had once been painted white, but the paint had peeled and the wood had chipped; it was even missing a few of the knobs for the drawers. I kind of liked it. I owned it, and was convinced I could bring it back to life with some new paint.
Police sirens rang somewhere in the distance as I got dressed; only half a month, and I was somewhat desensitized to the everlasting sirens of the neighbourhood. I had expected that the city would bring life and business, yet not in the form of ambulance sirens that lasted until the early morning and continued throughout the day.
I shrugged on my leather jacket, glancing into the mirror of my small bathroom before sneaking out the door. Just as my apartment, my appearance was unfamiliar. I toyed with my hair, trying to convince myself I liked the new black shade. I could only manage to stare at my reflection for less than a minute, and eventually I hurried from my apartment as I realized it was close to half past nine.
I kept my head down as I walked the unnerving streets of my neighbourhood, trying to ignore the glances of strangers that I passed. The breeze was cold as it blew through my thin jacket, but the rays of the sun were warm. I was thankful for the few streaks of sunlight that somehow managed to sneak their way through the skyscrapers of the city and down to the busy streets.
Long minutes of walking and one bus ride later, I felt myself loosen up as I stepped onto a brighter street. Just barely on the edge of the city, it wasn't as expensive as downtown but the area had several restaurants, bars and shops. It was lively and hectic, somewhere I could comfortably blend in to the anonymous chaos. Although I was still paranoid, I wasn't convinced that every person on the street knew my name, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't stop flinching every time a police cruiser drove by.
The first stop was called Mabel's Meals.
It was bigger than most restaurants on the street, yet it was still one of the cleanest places I had ever seen. Mabel Clark had opened the business thirty years ago, and she still ran it independently. I hadn't been told her age but I assumed she was getting well into her sixties; even her restaurant had taken a grandmotherly approach to things. It definitely seemed to attract any grandmother in the city; as I stepped into the restaurant, I spotted several elderly couples at first glance. There was a few younger customers, but the majority seemed to be older. The restaurant itself had an elegant attitude; white walls, sky blue table cloths and shining silverware.
A few customers glanced up at me as the door chimed while I walked in; I felt out of place in a leather jacket, yet it was one of the only articles of clothing that I owned and I couldn't afford something more professional.
I walked up to the one of the waitresses as she finished writing down orders for a couple, attempting to look confident and cheerful, "Hi, is Mabel here?"
She was one of the younger waitresses; blonde, mid-twenties and sharply dressed in her white blouse and black dress pants. I noticed her drop her smile immediately after she turned away from the customers, revealing her true disinterest as she began to look down at her notepad. I wasn't quite sure if she hadn't heard me or she was ignoring me. I waited a moment, "Hi, do you think I could speak with-"
She looked up from her notepad, eyeing me up and down until a flicker of dissatisfaction crossed her face and she began walking away, "She ain't here."
I bit my lip, hastily following after her, "Do you know when she'll be in?"
She didn't bother looking back, beginning to clear off a dirty table, "Nope."
I looked around the room, yet unfortunately I couldn't spot any other staff. I quickly dug a sheet of paper out of my bag after I realized the waitress was going back to the kitchen, grabbing her arm, "Wait, please. It's important that you give this to her."
She smirked at me coldly, snatching the paper from my hands. Her eyes quickly scanned over the resume and she rolled her eyes, "Sure kid, I'll give it to her."
She didn't bother to make the lie convincing.