The restaurant was quiet, the smell of fried onions and old coffee hanging in the air. My parents had finally left for the afternoon, trusting me to run the register. But I had my own way of doing business. I didn't care about the small change from a cheeseburger. I wanted something more.
In the back storage room, surrounded by crates of soda, a middle-aged man was slamming into me. He was breathing like a broken vacuum cleaner, his face red and sweaty. He thought he was doing something great. I was bent over a stack of napkins, my hands gripping the edge of a wooden table.
"Mmm-nnn-gh... is this really it?" I asked, my voice dripping with boredom. "Is this the best you’ve got? My coffee is stronger than your thrusts."
"I'm... I'm trying," he wheezed, his rhythm becoming messy and despe
