Slightly impaired. Sometimes details dribbled out of my memory and I couldn't quite... Like, why was I standing at the cash register behind the counter of this old diner? Had I taken a job as a waitress? Anything was possible. Judging from the bills in my hand and the open cash drawer, I seemed to be making change. Was the cash in my hand for the till or the customer? The place was almost empty. Just me, one customer at a booth, and the smell of stale fry grease. Where was the cook? In the back? Could I be the cook? Somehow I couldn't picture myself flipping burgers. Na, I must be the waitress. The customer got up, his long trench coat sweeping around him as he moved. The guy winked at me before striding toward the back hall. He passed under the "restrooms" sign over the arch of the doorway and disappeared. With his dark eyes and chin length black hair, he had been kind of cute, I thought. Cute in a pale, bloodshot-eye way. Abruptly, my own thoughts irritated me. Forget cuteness. Think about what you're doing, I chastised myself.
