Poetry in Motion

06

Imelda had soon become rather immune to the sounds of rubber on a tacky floor; the simple white plimsoles she wore were starting to squeak slightly against the black and white tiles, the floor itself needing a good clean after the amount of people which had walked over it from just today. Luckily, she didn't have to stick around for the clearing up. She could go, very soon, and she was incredibly thankful for it.

Since the premeditated breakfast-lunch with Arthur, Imelda hadn't stopped. Literally, she hadn't got much of a break in between the one earlier and now clocking out. She couldn't feel her feet, she even looked down to check they were still attached to her, as ridiculous as that was. The white canvas of her shoes was looking slightly greyer in colour now. She inhaled deeply, she hoped she had enough washing powder at home to quickly give them a clean-up. She hadn't even had these long, they were bought new for this job specifically.

"Note to self: avoid white shoes again." Imelda whispered while pulling on her battered brown leather coat. She knew that the coat and the uniform were at odds. Being that the item of clothing was her father's it alone measured and stopped at the tops of her thighs. Brown and pink weren't really a winning combination, but she honestly didn't care. This was the warmest coat she owned. In fact, if she was to be honest, it was the only coat she owned.

Popping her head into the kitchen, she smiled. Mark was sadly here until close, he was meant to be on a split shift apparently, but whoever was taking over phoned in ill. Imelda believed it was more than likely they didn't want to come in at a late time in the afternoon. Be fair, she probably wouldn't like starting a shift at three in the afternoon either.

There was something oddly fatherly about the man currently scrubbing at the grill. His skin was a warm chocolate colour, healed burn scars were on his hands to show he'd harmed himself accidentally in the past in the kitchen, but he always seemed to be constantly humming to whatever song was playing on the radio in the kitchen with a smile. He was also tall, broad shouldered, thinning brown hair and kind dark eyes. Imelda aged him at about mid-forties, maybe early fifties. He seemed content in his work, happy even to be hiding back here.

"You off?" Hearing his voice, low and kind sounding yet inquisitive, Imelda blinked and nodded. "You sticking it out then, huh?" He asked, smirking and looking back at his work. Not many newbies stuck out getting all the awful shifts. It won in someone's favour and character if they came back.

"Yes, and yes. You're not getting rid of me that easily. I was just coming to say bye, actually." Imelda leaned out the way when Sharon came in, frowning away. Imelda knew she had a bit of a resting bitch face at times, but Sharon here took the whole biscuit and bakery for outdoing her. "I'll leave you to it, bye." She waved awkwardly, getting a kind farewell from Mark and nothing from Sharon, not that she was surprised.

Imelda walked back out and through the diner. She patted her pockets, keys in one, loose change shoved in another. She didn't bother bringing her bag with her, it wasn't like she had loads of things to put in it. She sighed begrudgingly; she'd get there. She hadn't intended on reclaiming what she had pawned, those things were gone; she'd be fooling herself if she thought they were still in that dingy shop. No, she wanted to buy new things which weren't connected to a sad past.

She licked her bottom lip as she pulled the coat collar up, she paused though and with wide eyes quickly darted back inside. Those who were sitting around quietly chatting watched her confusedly. She had forgotten something in the staff room. Reappearing moments later with a plastic bag being carefully carried in one hand, she pushed at the door and exited. She didn't even glance behind herself as she went. Those in there won't linger and look to her, not to be rude, why would she do the same?

After a while, every costumer soon became the same. They all merged into one, along with each hour doing much the same. It was hard to tell the difference between who came in when, what was ordered and when something happened in a certain hour of her shift. Honestly, she had been somewhat counting down since about two, give or take three-ish.