Table 16

This is the other one, that I didn't even submit.

Cheery!

Prompt 8: A husband and wife are meeting in a restaurant to finalize the terms of their impending divorce. Write the scene from the point of view of a busboy snorting cocaine in the restroom.

These two fucks come in here about an hour or two ago and sit over at table 16 which is like where I have the worst fucking luck with everything it’s cursed or something has been forever. I’m free and clear so far’s I can tell what with the two fucks order just coffee which means my job is cake just step in when they’re gone two cups two saucers single wipedown bing bing bing. Finally for once like in ever have some fucking decent table 16 luck I’m thinking except they’ve sat there for like a full 40 minutes and I guess haven’t so much as had sip one of the coffee because of the I guess importance of their conversation which includes fucking papers and signatures and which looks like six motherfucking different types of bad news since they’re both so serious and fucking intense except then one of them then must like take a sip of the cold sick coffee and it’s fucking cold and and this is just as I’m walking by so the one of these fucks says ‘can we get a couple a fresh cups’ and like nudges them toward me so what am I supposed to do except say ‘yessir’ but my throat is fucking dry so I don’t say nothing I just pick up the cups and then like immediately drop one. Table motherfucking 16, right? Which means I get an earful from Bill about it like it’s my fucking fault I’m feeling a little bit shaky today it’s like I’ve been looking at these two fucks staring intently and whispering and shit in like hushed voices and it’s starting to freak me out and the radio is playing fucking I wish that I had Jessie’s girl and I’m fucked up. I dropped a cup. And I’m sitting there, kneeling, scrubbing the ugly mulch fucking carpet like the shit isn’t covered with stains and footprints and shit and these two fucks are just talking and pausing and saying ‘visitation’ and shit and ‘separate residences’ and fucking ‘mutual property’ and shit and I figure what’s going on. And I just want to stand up and throw my fucking rag down on the carpet and go listen, OK, listen. Let me tell you what, OK, just burn it. Whatever the two of you fucks’ve got, just burn it. All. You don’t want it. You won’t. For the rest of your lives you’ll see this shit and it will like all you’ll think about is the fucking fights and the bullshit and the how the other one’ve you fucked it up good. But I don’t say shit I just scrub. And then Bill says ‘hurry’ like I’m not fucking scrubbing. And then the one fuck leaves and I tell Bill I gotta piss and he gives me this fucking look and I can tell the other one is right outside the door waiting for me to be done because I can hear her crying but she just has to wait her turn cause I’m gonna do one more I gotta do something to get these shakes to stop. And I know she’s in no fucking hurry. She’s got nothing to go home to.