Hushabye
E-6. The Mystics. “Hushabye.” After giving up my quarter and pressing the button combo the song quickly started playing. I sat down and listened as I scanned over the menu, tapping my foot all the while to this classic 1950s song. It is a shame people can’t appreciate the past like they should. This choice leads to them missing out on so much history.
Take this young girl, for instance. She can barely seem to get her grammar straight as she takes my order. It is pathetic, really. She looks about twelve years old but wears that uniform like a common street whore. Her name tag reads “Teagen.” What the hell is that? Parents nowadays will throw any random letters together and call it a name.
I order a cherry Coke and cheeseburger, medium well. I just know she’ll find a way to fuck it up. My song runs its course and some modern day pop piece of shit comes on. The whole music industry is now talentless little girls that act like sluts.
Teagan finally comes back to my table twenty minutes later with Coke in hand. Where is the burger, you ask? I’d like to know the same thing. She walks away again without asking if I need anything. If this girl was going to make it out of this diner alive her tip certainly would have just been sliced in half.
I point to the menu with a false question. She comes in close enough so that I can grab her hand and slam it down onto the table. You would think the little bitch would be used to being treated so rough by men, but she still squeals as a finger bone breaks apart.
Before she can yank her hand away I grab the steak knife from the table and ram it through the backside of her hand. She screams in pain and terror, and all of the patrons of this fine establishment turn their heads towards the commotion.
Big muscled-up retard co-worker comes jumping over the counter to her rescue but I quickly remove the knife from her hand and rake it across his eyes. He falls to the ground at the same time as the girl and they make a little pile of human waste. Amazingly the blood they have spilt is less than what leaked out of my medium-well cheeseburger.
The manager on duty tries to talk me down as I pick the terrified waitress up by the hair and put the knife to her throat. I call his attention to the fact that I was here last night after they closed and left a little gift under the register.
My old wristwatch is strapped to the modern homemade explosive device. It had about fifteen seconds until it would stop ticking forever, and the former gathering place of my friends would no longer exist. But the first to go would be Teagan. I don’t know if she heard me through the sound of her crying, and the screams of the other guests. Shame, I really wanted an answer.
“How did you enjoy the song?”