The diner seemed to epitomize New York City’s image of the greasy spoon: dull aluminum outside, Greek inside. And although the words "gourmet" and "connoisseur" never crossed a patron's lips, the service and menu surpassed all expectations. This everyman’s meeting place occupied the center of a pot-holed parking lot that attempted to organize everything from garbage trucks to bicycles, from Mercedes to Harley’s. On this particular day, air outside the diner was fresh and Spring-like; air inside, heavy with conflicting aromas and temptations.
In a booth near the door, sat a lanky 19 year-old wearing a Yankees windbreaker and baseball cap; across from him, an angelic face with smiling Irish eyes. Conversation between the two had ceased for the moment, the silence amongst the din allowing them to focus on the object of their affections, each other.
Like previous Sundays since the start of baseball season, this Sunday, had begun with a morning double header, during which Coleen read the Sunday papers behind the first base dugout, while Jack fouled his uniform with clay, grass stains, and sweat. He’d won the first game, pitching a seven hitter. In the second, he’d played right field, hitting a home run in another winning effort. Afterwards they’d headed back to Jack's place, where he showered and shaved before changing into jeans, tee shirt, and requisite Yankees accessories.
At first sight, this his favorite Queens eating spot upset Coleen's refined esthetic sense. At first bite, the place disturbed her cultivated palate. Somehow he had adjusted to opera and ballet, and she had adjusted to Mikos' burgers and fries.
"Well, what will it be today, Love-of-My-Life?" he asked with a boyish grin.
"I don't know, but lips that partake of this greasy, gourmet stuff, will never touch mine."
"A real-life dilemma: to greasy mine lips with Greek cuisine, or greasy them later with thine lipstick. To have or be had, that is the question..."
“To stomach the food, or pump the stomach,” she interrupted impishly, “That is the question. To feast, or fast."
“Hey, wait one minute. I stole six bases today. You dare question my fastidiousness?”
"Yes, I dare, and in the meantime, I bid one bacon cheeseburger," she said defiantly.
"I'll up your bid. Uh, don't take that personally. I bid two bacon cheeseburgers with fried onions, and a large order of fries. Should we make that to go?"
"Well, it depends on those onions. What did you have in mind for dessert, Big Boy."
"You, Love-of-My-Life, are what I have in mind."
"I think we'd better order, Jack."
Jack glanced around, "Hey Matty, when ya get a chance.”
Ground beef sizzled on the grill. Frozen french fries hissed at hot grease. In a far corner, the juke box began playing Dion and the Belmonts’ I Wonder Why I Love You Like I Do. This was Jack’s idea of heaven.
Finally Matty sidled up to the table, "O.K. guys, what's it gonna be today?"
"Three bacon cheeseburgers with fried onions, one large fry, and a pound of napkins to go."
"Coleen, for God's sake, can't you do something with him? He won’t live much past the ripe old age of twenty-one if he keeps this up. And you have to think about your girlish figure, you know. You hang around with the likes of him, and you'll look like me in no time at all. And I'm not pregnant either."
Over the din, she screeched their order to Mikos. "By the way, you kids in a rush?"
No. They were in love-locked oblivion.
