She hadn't expected the sound of wind chimes to notify everyone at the diner of her arrival, when she opened the door. She wanted to go unnoticed for a few moments, a chance to look at the truck drivers in silence, the uniforms the waitresses wore, the way the mash was a perfect dome, the gravy sliding down in different streams depending on the angle the waitress carried the plate. Everyone glanced at her, some even turning around in their seats at the bar, their necks craned but their backs still facing her. One man nudged his elbow into the guy beside him, they both just kept looking her up and down, only one eye on each man visible from where she was standing. It was strange that their separate eyes moved in unison, even resting on her cleavage for the same five seconds before moving down to her thighs.

She wondered if she should wave hello, instead she pulled at the deep v shape delving into her cleavage, trying to uncover less. It seemed like a good idea when she had looked at herself for one last time, in the tinted mirror in her motel room. She even wore the push up bra she had once bought for a date with Roger, making her tits look like the cheap silver ornaments on the fake tree, in the motel's lobby. She had put her right hand into the cup holding her left breast, pulling it closer to centre, doing the same with the other side, before grabbing the card to room 313 on her way out. She would probably have to stop at Mr. Goodtimes on her way back to her room. It's not like she hadn't thought about working there. With only money left for two more nights at the motel and a choice between Mr. Goodtimes, this diner and the gas station, she didn't exactly have a lot to choose from and only wanted to resort to the other thing she could do, in emergencies.

Hi Suga. You want some dinner?

It took her a few seconds to decipher where this voice was coming from. It was as though she couldn't make anything out in detail, everything seemed to be swimming by her. She thought about the waitress doing a backwards frog, kicking her feet out and holding a plate in each hand, winking at her as she swam by.

You just gonna stand there?

She finally noticed the woman standing impatiently beside her, one hand on her hip. It was the woman who had just swam by but she hadn't even see her until now. She told herself to calm down, the way you brush off strange happenings like this because there are much more pressing things to think about, like getting a job at a diner in Alda, Nebraska. Nowhere, nowhere.

Umm. Actually I wanted to apply for a job.

They stood staring at each other for a few seconds, the woman looking into her eyes without blinking. She finally looked away to take in her jersey blouse, the sparkling makeup on her chest, her legs encompassed in black leggings; small white dots that were made to look like paint splatters, suede knee-high boots. The waitress could tell she wasn't from Alda, they didn't sell things like that here.

You need to talk to Stan, he's the manager.

Mackenzie still hadn't said anything other than wanting to apply for a job.

He's in the office, I'll get him.

She didn't know if she should continue standing by the door. She took a step closer to the bar and then decided against sitting down, that would seem too casual. She hadn't noticed yet but everyone had gone back to their positions, mostly hunched over their food. Even when something as strange as Mackenzie happens in Alda, you still have to go back to real life; eating and trucking.

Hi there.

Stan was fat, like fat-fat, the kind of fat where you have to wear suspenders so the buckle of your belt won't cut into your over-hanging stomach when you sit down. She realized she had been staring at his protruding stomach, wondering if he had to take the position of a pregnant woman when he had sex with his wife. On his side, behind her, lying at a forty five degree angle because his penis couldn't possibly reach past his gut. Or, maybe it did, the only way she could imagine someone wanting to fuck him.

He hadn't noticed these few awkward moments because when she finally gathered herself and put out her hand to shake his, he startled a little, having been staring down at her tits.

Hi. Mackenzie. Their hands clasped, his, moist on one side and rough on the other.

I just moved into the neighborhood and saw your sign at the door. Was wondering if you were still hiring?

He looked to his left, towards the display where the pies were kept. They had just hired Stella, a middle-aged woman with a tangle of spider veins on her thighs, so complex they looked like bruises.

Yeah.

He looked back at her, licking his lips and then wiping them again with his hand. She wondered what the point of this was, licking and then wiping.

Why don't you, uh, come into my office. Have you worked in a restaurant before? It gets pretty busy here sometimes.

He asked these questions even though he'd never let her leave without offering her a job. She was the best thing he had seen around here in years. He wondered if she'd work at Mr. Goodtimes on her nights off. He imagined visiting her there.

He pushed open two swinging doors that led to the kitchen.

No, it was a foul man. The ref used to go to Grand Island, how do you expect him not to take sides?

The man who said this was facing the fryer, stacking eight hamburger patties on top of each other, and moving them to the left where there was also a pile of bacon and what looked to be fried chicken.

She looked past the mounds of greasy flesh to Stan, who was now standing in the doorway of a small room that she presumed was his office but looked more like a broom closet. He was thankful she had fallen behind, he watched her hips move as she walked towards him, the way they seemed to rock the kitchen from side to side, sending the dishes flying to the right and the bottles of unopened ketchup to the left.