9th Street alongside traffic, and chug ever so slowly past them.
The city had demolished the beloved landmark years ago, but the owners relocated the cafe just down the street. It wasn’t the same, but it was his tradition and still the best breakfast in town. Mathis came here to reminisce about the good ol’ days when Modesto was all rails, rivers, and agriculture, when you didn’t come into town without seeing half a dozen people you went to church with and when you felt at home in the world.
Modesto lost that small town atmosphere when she spread her legs to the housing developers who cashed in on the real estate bubble, attracted a hundred thousand new residents within a ten-year period of time, and then dumped her like a two-bit whore. The old girl busted herself at the seams.
But she still had a way about her. Even though the orchards and crops that once graced the landscape had been plowed asunder to lay the foundations of cheap housing developments, their roots were still interlaced deep in the fertile soil and sprouted up into her people—roots that either anchored them to the place for a lifetime or brought them back. Only the lucky few managed to make a complete escape. Mathis was one of the former, grounded here for a lifetime. He hardly recognized the place anymore, but he didn’t mind. It brought him a certain comfort. He felt as rooted here as the trees in every orchard that surrounded the town.
His waitress came to the table to ask if he wanted anything else. She’d been working here for years and Mathis was a little in awe of her. He always thought there must be a factory in the Mid-west somewhere that spit out the cookie-cutter diner waitress: a heavy-set, with a back-combed, netted hair-do, snapping on her chewing gum type of broad that was found at Denny’s across America.
Well, that waitress factory broke the mold with Sabine. She was definitely not your ordinary diner waitress. Even on the busiest morning with the rudest customers, her eyes always held the light of a smile. Her long, wavy hair was lifted into a sexy, messy twist with loose tendrils curled down around her neck—and she had a damn fine set of legs. Mathis may not have been able to sit at his favorite window and watch the trains go by anymore, but he sure as hell made sure he sat in Sabine’s section of the restaurant so he could enjoy a completely different, and ultimately better, view.
Mathis was taken aback when he caught himself admiring Sabine the first time. He had been buried in grief for so long he was practically dead himself. But then one morning he noticed the way the morning light played through the honey and caramel of her hair, the easy sway of her hips as she sashayed table to table chatting up the locals, and the camber of her back as she leaned over to pour their coffee, and he felt jolted alive.
Sabine seemed to have an intuitive understanding that Mathis wasn’t much for small talk. She skirted around his table gracefully, respecting his privacy; and although he wanted to, he could never muster up the mojo to say anything to her. Besides placing his order, please, thank you, yes and no, and ma’am, his tongue froze up. He always felt awkward about the “ma’am” part, she was at least a decade younger then he was, but he didn’t want to act too familiar and call her by her name. He wanted to pay her a little respect.
Recently, he had been working himself up to attempt a conversation with her. It had been 35 years since he had hit on a woman—and that was Denise—their junior year in high school. Mathis was pretty sure that shouting, “Hey Sabine, you wanna go steady?” across the cafeteria wasn’t how it worked nowadays.
Maybe today he could think of a good icebreaker, like, “Nice weather we’re having.”
Mathis glanced out the window. It looked like God sneezed on the city today, leaving a wet low-lying fog that had embraced and sealed in one of the malodorous assaults Modesto was known
The city had demolished the beloved landmark years ago, but the owners relocated the cafe just down the street. It wasn’t the same, but it was his tradition and still the best breakfast in town. Mathis came here to reminisce about the good ol’ days when Modesto was all rails, rivers, and agriculture, when you didn’t come into town without seeing half a dozen people you went to church with and when you felt at home in the world.
Modesto lost that small town atmosphere when she spread her legs to the housing developers who cashed in on the real estate bubble, attracted a hundred thousand new residents within a ten-year period of time, and then dumped her like a two-bit whore. The old girl busted herself at the seams.
But she still had a way about her. Even though the orchards and crops that once graced the landscape had been plowed asunder to lay the foundations of cheap housing developments, their roots were still interlaced deep in the fertile soil and sprouted up into her people—roots that either anchored them to the place for a lifetime or brought them back. Only the lucky few managed to make a complete escape. Mathis was one of the former, grounded here for a lifetime. He hardly recognized the place anymore, but he didn’t mind. It brought him a certain comfort. He felt as rooted here as the trees in every orchard that surrounded the town.
His waitress came to the table to ask if he wanted anything else. She’d been working here for years and Mathis was a little in awe of her. He always thought there must be a factory in the Mid-west somewhere that spit out the cookie-cutter diner waitress: a heavy-set, with a back-combed, netted hair-do, snapping on her chewing gum type of broad that was found at Denny’s across America.
Well, that waitress factory broke the mold with Sabine. She was definitely not your ordinary diner waitress. Even on the busiest morning with the rudest customers, her eyes always held the light of a smile. Her long, wavy hair was lifted into a sexy, messy twist with loose tendrils curled down around her neck—and she had a damn fine set of legs. Mathis may not have been able to sit at his favorite window and watch the trains go by anymore, but he sure as hell made sure he sat in Sabine’s section of the restaurant so he could enjoy a completely different, and ultimately better, view.
Mathis was taken aback when he caught himself admiring Sabine the first time. He had been buried in grief for so long he was practically dead himself. But then one morning he noticed the way the morning light played through the honey and caramel of her hair, the easy sway of her hips as she sashayed table to table chatting up the locals, and the camber of her back as she leaned over to pour their coffee, and he felt jolted alive.
Sabine seemed to have an intuitive understanding that Mathis wasn’t much for small talk. She skirted around his table gracefully, respecting his privacy; and although he wanted to, he could never muster up the mojo to say anything to her. Besides placing his order, please, thank you, yes and no, and ma’am, his tongue froze up. He always felt awkward about the “ma’am” part, she was at least a decade younger then he was, but he didn’t want to act too familiar and call her by her name. He wanted to pay her a little respect.
Recently, he had been working himself up to attempt a conversation with her. It had been 35 years since he had hit on a woman—and that was Denise—their junior year in high school. Mathis was pretty sure that shouting, “Hey Sabine, you wanna go steady?” across the cafeteria wasn’t how it worked nowadays.
Maybe today he could think of a good icebreaker, like, “Nice weather we’re having.”
Mathis glanced out the window. It looked like God sneezed on the city today, leaving a wet low-lying fog that had embraced and sealed in one of the malodorous assaults Modesto was known
Similar Books
