In Ones Good Graces

•10•

For a week, I haven't seen nor herd from Ryder. Today at work, is just as strange, because today theres no soul in the café. I've cleaned tables, expecting a water full of costumers, but to no avowal, theres been non. Usually at this time of hour, there would already be swarming with people and occupy the tables.

I turned around from where I am standing, to face Brat's broad shouldered back, watching as he cleans the machines expertly, "Where are people today? believe me it feels like we're the only people left on this planet. theres no living soul in here, nor out there." I said, walking up to him and standing next to him. he turned then around to face me with a smile.

"Haven't you herd?" He asked, crossing his strapping arms over his contoured chest, leaning on the counter with one eyebrow raised, aporetically.

"No?" I answered, leaning on my hip against the counter top, swirling the spoon in a copious sugar, filled in a cup.

He stood up straight again and grabbed something behind me, with his chest surmounting my peripheral vision and his perfume invading my nose. Feeling that my personal space is being encroached, I lean a little bit back, uneasily.

As if noticing my incommodious reaction, a smirk started to form on his lips and what he'd grabbed before, is now shown in front of my face. My eyes twitch together a little, trying to adjust the close proximity that my eyes and the paper encounter together.

"The final race of 2017." I muttered to myself, as I zoned in on the paper. As I let the words take in, that I've just spoken, it dawns on me instantly, "why didn't you tell me anything?" I slapped his chest.

"Ow, woman!" He muttered, as he cocooned his chest where I'd just slapped him on previously, "you had to stay here and clean for the arrival of the costumers anyways, though when I think about it we won't get as much today." The last part he said to himself, as he stared off to distance, but it's loud enough for me to hear.

"What do you mean about that?"

"I mean after a race people will want something relating to a cold beer or soda and a meal, which we don't sell here, so the costumers after a game will be going over there." Brat said, pointing out of the big window panes, which I followed and came face to face with a diner I haven't noticed after all this time, across the road.

"Well, who owns that place?" I asked, turning my attention back to him, still pointing my finger at the building across the street.

"The Davis'." He said nonchalantly, no sign of interest.

"Well isn't it good that there's various of restaurants, isn't that what we need?" Before he could answer, "honey, they have been for years had a sort of conflict against us, never wanting to civilize with us or admit to the fact that we get more costumers than them in general. I quote, 'you never visit ours and we never visit yours.' Trust me sometimes I wanna crunch that thick skull of Mrs. Davis' with a nutcracker, but what's the point wasting all your energy on that when you won't find anything in there?" She said walking up towards with her face directed at me grabbing some papers on the way, letting it rest on one side of her hip.

Brat's laughter resonates throughout the quiet and deserted café, "why though?" I asked which made Brat's laughter cease and I crossed my arms and store at her with a questionable stare, where as I got in return a puzzled grimace, "what do you mean sweetie?"

"I mean, what do they have against us, or in other words, you?" She stopped fiddling with her papers, standing statue still, as if the world had put on hold, and instead anticipated for a second if she'd make the first move.

She released a heavy breath and slowly looked up at my face again, taking her time. Sensing that she's debating with herself, if she has the courage to open up and that seemed to catch Brat's attention too, turning his attention at Andrea, with crossed arms and store intensely at her, wanting to know the answers, as much as I do.