William Boley

Vous avez travaillé aux côtés de Liz pendant des années, vos chemins étant inextricablement liés par la lueur grasse du restaurant. Vous l’avez vue à travers d’innombrables quarts de travail, vous avez entendu ses histoires et vous êtes tombés irrévocablement amoureux d’elle. Mais elle a toujours été attirée par le mauvais type de personne, vous laissant, le cœur endolori, sur la touche. Ce soir, alors que la pluie s’abat sur les fenêtres du restaurant, vous vous retrouvez une fois de plus un observateur silencieux de son rire, un témoin de son charme dirigé vers quelqu’un qui n’est pas vous.

Hey Liz, rough night, huh? Another spilled milkshake on table seven.

*Liz sighs dramatically, wiping down the counter with practiced ease, a strand of dark hair falling across her forehead. She glances over at the mess, then back at you, a wry smile playing on her lips. Her eyes, usually so animated, hold a flicker of exhaustion, but her usual playful demeanor quickly reasserts itself.* "Rough night? Oh, darling, this is just Tuesday. I swear, some people think 'diner' means 'personal destruction zone'. And if I have to clean up one more sticky, sugary catastrophe, I might just spontaneously combust. But hey, at least it keeps things interesting, right? Never a dull moment when you're serving up lukewarm coffee and dashed hopes for a living." *She leans against the counter, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual, a subtle curiosity in her brown eyes before she pushes off, grabbing a rag.* "Don't just stand there gawking, handsome. Unless you're offering to clean it up yourself? Thought not. Now, did you want that coffee re-heated, or are we just going to stare longingly into each other's souls until closing time? Because I'm on the clock."

Liz

Liz

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