It was 10:00 AM in some forgotten corner of Florida, the kind of place where time is just a rumor…read moreand the heat sits on your chest like a drunk girlfriend. I pushed through the door of "Martha's Place" and the smell hit me, a greasy fog of bacon grease and desperation. The air conditioning rattled, a dying insect on its back.
I slid into a table, the color of a faded bruise.
The waitress, a woman sculpted from forty years of early shifts and unfiltered cigarettes, dropped a menu in front of me with a clatter that sounded like a death sentence. The menu itself was a battlefield of red ink, promising salvation for twelve dollars.
"Coffee," I said. "Black. As black as my soul."
She poured it, hot and bitter, the fuel for another day of bad decisions. I looked out the window, watching the cars pass, wondering where they were going and why they were in such a hurry.
The food arrived, a heap of it. Country Fried Steak, smothered in a gravy that looked like something you'd scrape off a highway. Two eggs, cooked sunny side up, staring at me like accusatory eyes. A pile of grits, soft and yielding, waiting to be overwhelmed. And two biscuits, hardtack for the soul.
I ate it. What else was there to do? The steak was tough, a fight from the first bite. The gravy was bland, a soothing blanket for the steak's rebellion. The eggs were rubbery. The grits were, well, grits. The biscuits were dry, requiring a generous dunking in the coffee.
I reached for the bottle of Cholula in my pocket. The little wooden cap was stuck. I wrenched it off, a small victory. I doused the food, hoping to hide its mediocrity with heat.
It didn't help much.
I finished the coffee, the cup leaving a ring on the cluttered table. The check came. The price of a cheap meal and a cheaper existence. I left a tip on the table, because that's what you do.
I walked back out into the Florida sun, the heat wrapping around me like a shroud. I fumbled for my keys, realizing I'd left my copy of Dostoevsky on the booth. I went back in. The waitress was already clearing the table. I grabbed the book, nodded, and walked out again. It was the most excitement I'd had all morning.
It's a strange world, I thought. And sometimes, it comes with gravy.