Lucky Cow by Mark Pett for June 27, 2004
Neil: (Sure, my shift was up, but when duty calls, I jump. This time, duty was a leggy blonde who sizzled like a frozen patty in hot grease. Her hair was the color of fries fresh out of the freezer, and her stare was just as cold. Her lips were squirted on with a ketchup bottle. Dames like her don't talk to joes like me without a good reason. I said what I say to every skirt who comes through my door). Welcome to Lucky Cow. Can I take your order? (She was the kind of broad who knew what she wanted. Her voice was firm but sweet, like a triple fudge Cowpaccino with extra syrup). Customer: I'll have a number 4 with extra pickles. Neil: (In my line of work, your gut said she wasn't telling me the whole story. So I grilled her like a slab of breakfast bacon). Would you like to try a blueberry cowpie? (She'd have none of it, though. She was a shoe and my question was an unwelcome cockroach laying eggs behind the deep fryer). Customer: No...look, I haven't got all day. Neil: (If I was going to work for her, we'd play by MY rules. I demanded the dough up front). That'll be $6.23. (I knew if I didn't do my job right, I'd be doing the foxtrot in the men's room with a mop as my dance partner. I held up my end of the deal). Here you go Ma'am. (The dame walked out of my life as quickly as she'd walked in. But fate has a way of having the last laugh. Something told me we'd meet again...) Thanks, come again!