"Serving # 4!"

"Serving # 4!"

I clutched my # 5 tightly - - my hands grew slightly sweaty. Rightly so - - some idiot had set the thermostat too high - -

"It's hot as blazes in here!"

I turned my head to see a curiously fat woman. She was wearing an amusing assortment of scarves - - in this weather! I thought, wanting to shake my head in wonder; what nerve. She was sweating as well, disgustingly so - - standing behind me. She made me ill, cheeks and forehead glistening as she stood, nostrils flaring slightly as she breathed.

She breathed in the remotest definition of the word. No, I was incorrect - - she drank the air - - drinking it in as a beached whale does - - loudly and wetly.

I peeked at her number.

"# 92, eh," I stated flatly, while shaking my head in an unsincere sympathetic motion. "That's going to be quite a wait."

Two rather large elderly people (was everyone in here obsese?) waddled by, and I caught a glimpse of their rather stranger conversation.

"...And so, the reason the crayola's will cost 20 dollars is because they are pre-sharpened - - "

"Pre-sharpened! Ha! I have a 99 cent pencil sharpener that does the same thing!"

The rather hippo-ish woman in back of me drew my attention quickly to her by sniffling loudly. What cheek, I thought, and with a condensending air I did not feel, I added: "I'm next."

"Serving # 92!!"

And she was gone.


- - - dreaming during sunday morning sermon - 1