Static shift

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The jukebox in the corner is alive and electric. Softly humming the melodies and harmonies of The beach boys' Help Me Rhonda, a background distraction to sweeping the polished lick clean checkered floor and as well to wiping down the glittering baby pink tables randomly covered in splatters of mustard and ketchup. A late shift and counting, at Big-O's diner, it's 3:02 am, officially Saturday since 12 am, and the wonders of working at an open 24 hour diner still hasn't made sense to me.

Smoothing out the frosting blue colored uniform dress, I look onto the newly shiny, reflection of the table. My once wavy neat, curly hair, is now a teased and sweaty dark brown mess after having a long night of the few orders I get, spat at me, and being scowled at for being to much of a clutz. My tan skin lost its glow and instead a slight pale replaced it, giving me this sickly appearance. Making ends meet at just 17 is slowing loosing its purpose.

The white girls get to work the afternoon shift, with the yellow sunshine all blazed out in the sunny climate. Busy bee full- which always means more dough. Filled with the usual customers being of knit-tight, smiling platinum blonde families with polite manners and too generous tips. The rest of us- Hispanic, black, Asian- you name it, get stuck from dusk till dawn with barely any tables to serve as the night progresses, and with the few rare coming square, old white folks, who glare and mutter at us. At least we get to work the same place as the rest of the girls.

The only ones left is Janice, the cooks and I since there is barely business at this time- especially in this brisk weather which seems to worsen at night. Janice starts to get overly paranoid around this time, always calling her mother, her ride home, who never runs short of always reminding us about being wary and safe of our surroundings. To have our guards up, especially around men that come in at this time. Her mother always comes on the dot, so the moment Janice walks out, she doesn't have to wait a second longer. This would be my cue to phone my older sister from the diners telephone the minute my shift ends. A habitual routine since starting employment here.

Chewing on pink bubblegum in a quietly manner, I go through my routine of checking the red-wine booths for belongings that might've been forgotten to be simply thrown out in the dumpster. No need to save these items, Big-O's is located in a deadbeat road in nowheresville, Oklahoma- Tulsa to be exact. It's very likely people wouldn't come back to claim their lost items.

Tonight has been more empty than ever, Janice finishing serving both last customers that ordered and left a bit ago, she sits behind the counter. Her kinky curls, free from a tight bun and lightly blowing through the slight icy breeze. A cancer stick between her fingers, beauty magazine in her other hand, nervously tapping her foot to an off-beat rhythm of an ultimate goodie, Big Bopper's Chantilly lace. Sitting on the counter seats, counting down the ticking clock till my shift ends. I swallow my wad of gum, dreamily picking my nail polish off, the pale pink paint chips falling off onto the sparkly, grey counter top.

The sound of a car halting to an unexpected screeching stop, interrupts us both for a minute before resuming our meaningless tasks.

RING!

The sound of the door being opened, only meant costumers, in an agonizing wait for my shift to end. I sigh almost silently to myself, stand up and attempt to flatten out my dress.

"Hello, welcome to Big-O's, the onl-"
"Yous open all night, amirite?"
A deep, thick New Yorker accent cuts me through mid sentence causing me to look up. My cheeks slightly blush at the sight presented to me, but I quickly compose myself.

A tall white boy- with dark hair and cold, darkened deeply, hazel eyes is staring me down. He attracted of a funky, yet pleasant, scent of strong liquor and cancer sticks. His cheeks and jawline are heavily bruised, purple and blue hues color up his face, with dried, thick blood surrounding it. He looks awfully pale and an aura of sleaziness- mischief radiates off of him, yet he makes it seem so good.

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