The vanishing pixie doll, stitched up and down with a melancholy boredom that knew how to wound and fester like none other in service workers. The traditional, and cheerful pink of her ensemble was just pretty wax to be gutted by a vengeful candle's flame. Even the dark of her hair was a charred, almost tangible memory for him.
Why was it that he felt compelled to save her? To help her? And from what, she was just a waitress juggling plates and plastic smiles.
The lump in his throat tasted like the formulation of regret, but Lukas reached for her arm when she turned to leave. Leaning halfway out of his seat to snag her in the midst of departure. But the touch was fleeting, a little pinch of pressure and then the sweetness of release when he settled back. Enough to garner her attention once more when he picked up that pencil and scraped out a question in his notepad.
Do you have any crayons here?
He was a firm believer that any place with a kids meal should.