The strawberry at the bottom of her mug proved elusive, until Duck used a flattened straw to spear it. The waitress came by just as she popped the bourbon soaked berry in her mouth.
Flustered, Duck quickly ordered another drink. She lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves to the small, high fenced patio. She checked the time on her phone. Whoever he was, he was twenty minutes late.
The waitress set her drink down and gave her a half smile, that said oh you poor thing, you got stood up, but no wonder, I saw the way you fought to get that strawberry.
Duck thought about what she might say, came up with something cutting, but by then, the waitress was off at a table across the patio, laughing easily at the clumsy come-ons of a couple red-faced men in suits. She sipped at her lemonade and swung her feet and looked around.
The music was low, but what she could make out was catchy and she found herself bobbing her head. She lit another cigarette and wondered if she should feel upset. Duck decided it was too nice a day for that kind of thinking and if whatshisface didn’t show up by the time she was done her drink with an incredible reason, like he ran into burning building to save a litter of puppies, then she would just go to that place next door for a taco.