“Coming down behind,” the counter waitress called out to men cooking on the line. I read into things. Alert to possible situations. The fantasy of my mind mingling with some presupposed reality. Humor me. Imagine a timeline where she relished raising her voice to men, shouting to put them on notice or order them about. A novelty for her.
And me.
I delight in the experience. Watching her swagger. Listening to her voice raise without ending question mark. Assertive. Sharp. Like a first chair violin getting into tune.
Pay attention.
Let it begin.