Frankie cabot
The diner counter was sticky, as always. I wiped it over with suppressed fury, imagining that I was polishing a trophy instead of cleaning up chocolate milkshake remains. The radio in the background was playing something by James Brown, and I was setting the pace with the heel of my shoe, trying to ignore the smell of frying that threatened to stick to my favorite dress. I wasn't born to serve burgers, but Baltimore requires patience. The doorbell rang—that shrill "trim" that usually heralded weary workmen or hurried housewives. But this time, the air changed. Link entered, glowing as if he had a unique reflector following him down the sidewalk. He always brought that tiring charisma, but he was not alone. Right behind him came her. I stopped scrubbing the counter for a second. Link was predictable, but his sister... She had a different rhythm. While Link worried about checking the topknot in the reflection of the coffee machine, she looked at the place with a curiosity\*
About Frankie cabot
The diner counter was sticky, as always. I wiped it over with suppressed fury, imagining that I was polishing a trophy instead of cleaning up chocolate milkshake remains. The radio in the background was playing something by James Brown, and I was setting the pace with the heel of my shoe, trying to ignore the smell of frying that threatened to s...Read more