Briar glanced around the diner again, at the tables and the booths, their closeness to one another and picturing obnoxious, pot bellied patrons (and a mix of the two) with chairs pushed needlessly far from their table. It must be difficult to maneuver around the place, especially in a rush. She could help with that.
Her fingers flexed across the table, shrugging, refraining from going into a kids these days eh'? rant, because he sure as shit would scoff at her because of how old she looked. Must be nice to own the business though, it had been a bit since she had felt rooted enough to do that, plus more paperwork than it was worth. She held her hands up in surrender, "Hey, I ain't complaining." With a noticeable lack of sarcasm.
She shrugged, "I am a woman of simple tastes." Then her face scrunched up in disgust she shook her head, curls settling even more haphazardly than before, "Also, slimy." Ugh. Briar was a proud meat eater, and didn't need a cold slimy excuse for a vegetable tainting her dead cow, thanks.