Working her way through college hadn't been easy. The low wages at the pizza joint were supposed to be offset by tips, but seriously? The university clientele wasn't known for being great tippers.
It had been a long night, with the music from the bar next door reverberating through the walls of the tiny restaurant. "Driving that train, high on cocaine..." Another Dead tribute band was droning on into the early hours of the morning.
Meanwhile, the old radio in the kitchen was fighting back with a little Carly Simon.
"In a small moment, in the restaurant,
where she worked the late night shift.
She shortchanged a sailor and made five.
You could never really call it a theft,
Just a little lie,
Swept up in her apron
And kept as a well-deserved gift..."
That was the moment she decided it was time to meet Mr. Lincoln.
The next patron who stumbled in looking for a slice never noticed the difference as he shoved his change into his pocket and returned to the drunken revelry next door.
* * * * * * * * *
No, this one is not autobiographical, although I did sling pizzas in college back in the early 70's. Now go visit Nicky and Mike for a large one with extra cheese. While you're there, you can check out who else is playing in today's "30 Minus 2 Days of Writing" game.
