She slid Dzinski’s breakfast in front of him. Setting the morning paper down, he looked up. The waitress’ best years were behind her, and she knew it, but instead of going along with it, she held a grudge and would likely slit life’s throat if she ever got the chance.
He looked at her sharp, yellow toothed-snarl and the wrinkled, heavy bags under her eyes and said yes, please and thank you and hoped he’d never come up between that woman and what she wanted.
Dzinski ate his breakfast, and stared out the window at the early morning streets.