“Ready to order, hon?”
“Cof—” She coughs into her fist. “Just water.”
“Cheesy grits. Can you cut up little sausages in it? Fried egg, medium. Oh…I probably can’t have it runny. Hard then. And can you put that in the grits too? Well, I guess I can do that.”
She turns and gazes out the window at the gray sky and wet asphalt of the diner parking lot.
I recognize that look. I had it at 17, as a runaway and seven weeks pregnant.
“I’ll put it all in the bowl. And decaf works.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
Saw that a few blogging buddies are participating in Bloganuary. I’m not fully committed yet, but I liked today’s prompt: What advice would you give to your teenage self?