So, I’m running around in California right now, near San Jose. I decided after work today that I was gonna go to Hooters. I had thought on it a bit, and thought, Fuck it. Why not? Cute girls, and the food is passable and much cheaper than anything around me. So I went. I had stopped going there because one particular incident just made me disgusted with the people that typically attend, but I threw it out the window a bit ago, because it stirred some memories and emotions that helped me heal some.
Nothing eventful happened. I had a ten-piece of wings, a salad and a piece of pie. I chatted with the girl waiting on me about travel and what the rush hour was like around here, so I could gauge when to head back to my hotel. I got my check, and I was placing my card on it so it could be cashed out.
Not long after, I saw this guy walk in. He was Hispanic, wearing a “Patriot” shirt that he was occasionally checking on to make sure was clean, some cargo shorts and sandals. Older guy, thinning hair on top, and he was occasionally talking to himself and looking at different people in the restaurant with bewildered eyes. The waitress came up to him, and I could tell that she was slightly uncomfortable, albeit kind and polite. No doubt it wasn’t her first time dealing with someone who was off, but the results may have been radically different last time.
She got his order, and she returned briefly with a key lime pie. And he began eating it, and was still occasionally talking to himself and looking around while taking a few bits of his pie at a time. I figured he was savoring it.
But his eyes made me wonder what had happened. Was it something he had seen? A bad drug trip? My mind began to wonder, and I started placing myself in his shoes, and began to wonder how it must be for him day in and day out.