And it begins... I hope!

This is for a class, and a grade, so please feel free to tell me what you think:

Its not that anyone was listening, she simply could not resist talking. “Spinach, sprouts, other green stuff, cranberries, pears, some almond shavings, sprinkle of goat cheese, with dressing on the side. Raspberry Balsamic vinaigrette, if you please. This my friends, neighbors and fortunate co-workers of mine, is how you make the perfect salad.” This last part being said as Laurence’s pudgy hips gently nudge her out of the way of the salad station with the single mindedness of a four year old getting into his sandbox.

Laurence the lion, king of the weeds. Jolene wonders, and not for the first time, how he ever made it into law school. Then again, the West Georgia School of Law didn’t exactly have a reputation for a stringent admittance policy. “Money goes in, lawyers come out.” That’s what the locals thought of the school. Not being a local, and having recently received a full scholarship, Jolene still allowed herself to hope for better.

Laurence may not have been the most studious of pre-attorneys, nor did he have a talent for “this whole business of bringing people food and drink“, as he often called it, but he had a kind and generous heart. His parents owned Coeurs et Fromage, and insisted that he work in the restaurant every weekend. If only Jolene’s parents had pushed her towards that type of responsibility, pushed her towards anything at his age... If only, if only.

No time for that now.

“Look out, watch it there, perfect salad coming through!”

Three hours later the restaurant is transformed from a bustling place filled with the smell of garlic and the laugh of good drink into something more akin to an apple orchard, at night and with a full moon. There is still the gentle fragrance of good times and better food lingering, yet quiet, dark and sanitized. Jolene sits at the bar with Javier, the dish washer, Laurence and his mother, Michelle, counting money, cursing the economy and trying to stay awake.

Michelle only hangs out at the bar after she and Javier are finished with the dishes and obligatory kitchen cleaning. Javier downs the last of his beer, a treat for those who work until the doors are locked, rinses his glass at the bar sink and puts his jacket on.

“Come on Dorothy, I walk you to your car.” he says as he places his keys on the bar.

Jolene can’t help but laugh, Javier has called her Dorothy since the first night they worked together. “My car is in the shop, again, Mr. Tin Man.”