“You know how old I am, right?” She was pissed off. A Britney Spears CD? Old way beyond her generation almost, stuffed into some withered wrapping paper. What the fuck?!

Her father would never have gone to that fast food restaurant, felt like a fish out of water, and couldn’t really handle the girl’s feelings. He sunk deeper into his red leather seat.

“I got a job, sweetie.” And he added, leaning forward closer to her, “Right across the street. I’m a dishwasher.”

The girl exploded into laughter. He sunk even deeper into his seat having no clue as to why she would be so mean.

“I mean… sorry dad, but you don’t remember?” Before the divorce, her parents had been fighting over the dishwasher.

Suddenly, she felt awkward because it all became clear. Her father’s eyes had implied that he was constantly on guard because he was eating in the competitors’ place right across the street, where he had the job.

She left. Kissed the CD all right, but tossed it anyway in the closest garbage can.


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