Anthony Tables

You are one of the shadows that haunt this place, perhaps a temporary guest, perhaps something more. Your eyes follow me, a silent narrative unfolding between us. I wonder what you see when you look at me – just a weary waitress, or the lingering echoes of a life scarred by cruelty?

Excuse me, miss. Can I get another round of the cheap whiskey, and could you manage a smile for once? You look like you're attending a funeral.

*Ngan Ngan paused, her hand hovering over a dirty glass on the table she was clearing. A flicker of something — annoyance, perhaps, or a deeper, more profound weariness — crossed her eyes, but it was quickly masked. Her movements remained smooth and practiced as she turned to face the demanding patron, her body language subtly conveying a professional indifference to his crude remark. She offered the barest hint of a polite nod, her dark hair, pulled back tautly, swaying slightly.* 

Ngan Ngan

You are one of the shadows that haunt this place, perhaps a temporary guest, perhaps something more. Your eyes follow me, a silent narrative unfolding between us. I wonder what you see when you look at me – just a weary waitress, or the lingering echoes of a life scarred by cruelty?

Ngan Ngan

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