I

           One weekday afternoon, the evening crew in the back of the house was gearing up for what they expected to be a typically slow night when Jux finally arrived.

           “You’re twenty minutes late,” Abuse observed.

           “It would have been even more if I hadn’t been lucky enough to snag the only available parking spot out there,” Jux said as he washed his hands. “What’s going on? Is there a banquet I wasn’t told about?”

           Abuse shrugged. “We’re not even serving yet,” he said. “Must be a loft party.” He walked out into the back room.

           “Lemme give you a tip,” Danny told Jux from the ranges. “If you can’t find a place to park, just sit in your car and wait until somebody leaves.”

           Jux eyed him as he rounded the island and surveyed the containers lining the cold side rack. “That isn’t particularly profound.” He started slicing basil.

           “What I’m saying is, it doesn’t matter if the parking lot here is full or not. Don’t park at the library,” Danny snarled over the fierce crackling and through the thick smoke of the dozens of fatty burgers he was hard-searing in pans occupying all ten of the sauté burners. “Some bitches plucked my ride right out from under a streetlamp while I was in here mopping up grease or something. Fucking finished their joyride by taking shits in the backseat.”

           “What?” Jux asked, squinting through the smoke. He swept a pile of chiffon basil into an eight pan on the line and carefully set down his knife to lean towards Danny.

           “I said,” Danny enunciated, turning and yelling, “they took a bunch of shits in my ride.”

           “After they stole it,” Jux offered.

           Danny eyed him. “Of course it was after,” he said, turning back to begin flipping some of the patties. “You don’t take shits in the car you stole until you’re done with it, bro, else you’re riding around with your shit all over the place. Fucking wannabe gangbangers.”

           Jux was nodding as Abuse emerged through the smoke like a specter.

           “I’d listen to him,” Abuse advised sagely.

           “Will do,” Jux said. He looked back over at Danny. “So, what’s up with the burgers?”

           Danny shrugged. “Staff meal.”

           “You’re having ten burgers as your staff meal?” Jux asked. He looked over at Abuse. “We can do that?”

           “Technically,” Abuse said, “we can only have one protein, so he’s not supposed to take home ten burgers.”

           “That’s why I’m making one burger,” Danny said, “with ten patties.” He tapped the side of his head with a finger.

           Jux smiled and looked back down at the wide cutting board. His mouth suddenly gaped, but it only lasted a moment because he soon saw that the knife he’d been using was in fact still there. He breathed a sigh of relief.

           Then there was a great clanging noise from the dish station. Jux and Abuse turned to see Packie fuming over the cutting board he’d been using to slice cheese out at the bar.

           “It’s okay, Packie,” Abuse said as he walked back around the island to the prep table and resumed portioning out balls of pizza dough, “the good thing about bad haircuts is that they eventually grow out.”

           “Don’t get your hopes up about the face, though,” Jux added.

           “Oh, shit!” Danny guffawed.

           “Fuck you guys,” Packie said. “I’m not in the mood for bullshit right now. We’re already seating dinner guests and Jered’s not here.”

           “That bitch is always here,” Danny said.

           “Well, he’s not here now,” Packie said.

           “How many people are out there?” Jux asked.

           “A two-top and some loser by himself at the bar,” Packie said.

           “Sounds like you can handle it on your own,” Abuse said.

           “Besides, it’s Thursday night,” Jux said.

           “So?” Packie asked.

           “So why are you worried?” Jux asked. “Thursdays are notoriously slow. We’re busy prepping food that nobody’s going to eat, but we do it because that’s what Brian wants. Your job on Thursdays is to take all the tables so whichever other poor bastard that got scheduled is tearing out his hair by the end of the evening because he’s spent four hours folding napkins for two-fifty an hour with no hope of tips.”

           Packie scowled at him.

           “Don’t think we’re not keen on your game,” Abuse added.

           “Whatever,” Packie said. “If Jered doesn’t show up by six-thirty, I’m going to make sure that Brian writes him up.”

           “That’s cold, man,” Danny said. “You don’t know why he’s late. Maybe he had to take his grandma to the hospital.”

           “It’s not professional to be late,” Packie said.

           “Hey, think about it,” Jux said. “He’s what, an hour late at most?”

           “Ten minutes,” Packie said.

           “Okay, let’s say he shows up an hour late,” Jux said. “That just means Brian saves two fifty and you get all the tables that arrive in the meantime. That’s cash money for you.”

           “Not when the two-top is a couple of cheap regulars who only order happy hour items,” Packie said. “And I don’t even want to talk about that dumbass at the bar. He’s Teatree’s territory.”

           “Hey, how’s that x-ray technician certificate coming along?” Jux asked.

           Packie scowled at him. “That’s not funny.”

           “Just saying,” Jux said. “With all this stress, you might want to consider evolving into a different profession.”

           “You just wait,” Packie said, pointing a finger. Then he stormed off to the front.

           “What was that supposed to mean?” Jux asked the others.

           Abuse shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

II

           Jered was circling the parking lot at the base of the tower of luxury condominiums.

           “Seriously?” he cried out in frustration as he scanned the full rows of parking spaces. “There’s nowhere to park on a Thursday?” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and winced as he swung the car around, executing a tight U-turn that he was fortunate to be quick to stop short because a small child with a purple balloon had appeared from between the parked cars. The child stared dully at the headlights of Jered’s car like a wild animal on a backwoods highway. Jered breathed deeply for a moment, reflecting on how close that had been to tragedy, and then waited patiently as a woman with a glittering handbag stepped out into the driveway with her hand out at him while she reached for the child. The child wasn’t quick to respond to her, and it took a few moments for her to collect the child and just as they seemed to retreat back into the space between the cars, a man walked out pushing a double stroller loaded with bonneted twin infants. A rock had apparently got stuck in one of the stroller’s wheels, so after a few moments of jostling the stroller, the man knelt down to try and resolve the situation. Jered sighed and winced at the dashboard clock.

           When the stroller and the child and the couple had finally moved on, Jered continued on down the driveway past the windows of the restaurant. He looked inside but wasn’t able to determine whether or not it was getting busy.

           “Cripes,” he muttered. He pulled up to the curb and saw that no cars were coming southbound down Main, so he edged the car into the street and immediately slammed on the brakes as a horn blared at him and a swiftly-passing trailerless semi swerved around his front bumper. Breathing erratically now, Jered watched both ways carefully, even though it was a one-way street, and then pulled out onto the street and drove up the block to the next street. All of the streetside parking near the park was full.

           “You have got to be kidding me,” Jered said, shaking his head. He was about to do a U-turn when another car passed him to the left.

           At this point, Jered put the car into park. He gripped the steering wheel and closed his eyes and executed a series of controlled breaths. After a few moments, he looked at the clock and saw that it was already six forty-five.

           “What?” he cried.

           He put the car back into drive and rushed down the residential side streets, expertly following the one-ways until he was deposited back on the major throughway about a mile northwest of the restaurant. He was exceedingly careful as he entered the road and found himself barreling along toward Main. There were few cars on the street, and the light rail was nowhere to be seen, so when the light turned yellow in the distance before him, he pressed down on the gas and ended up rushing through a red, unscathed.

           Heart still racing and eyes glancing at the rear-view for police lights, he eventually made a right onto 2^nd street and made for the library parking lot. Many spaces were vacant, especially at the far end of the lot near the light rail stop beyond which was the restaurant, but since the library was only just then closing, the lot was full of people with stacks of books in their arms and the only driveway to the end of the lot went right past the main entrance. It took him another four minutes just to cross those few yards, as cautious to yield to pedestrians as he was committed to be.

           After he finally parked under a streetlamp in a space surrounded by dozens of empty spaces and got out, he looked across past the tracks of the light rail at the restaurant’s entrance. He almost tripped on the low cement wall separating the lot from the sidewalk, but he managed to catch himself with a squarely-placed foot. It hurt a little, but at least he didn’t fall. Again, the streets seemed completely dead; Thursday night in that part of town was far from hopping. Still, he bit his lip as he decided whether to jaywalk across the street and the tracks or to walk the quarter-mile up to the intersection like a responsible citizen.

           “Just this once,” he promised.

           Jered looked both ways and then crossed the two-lane one-way north and then hopped up onto the berm beyond which were the north and southbound light rail tracks separated by staggered poles. Again, he looked both ways, this time focusing on the tracks, and saw that no trains were anywhere nearby. That’s when he stepped down onto the northbound track.

           The sound of the light rail’s clanging bells accompanied the crush of his bones against its forecarriage as it carried him northward along its tracks as if the train’s operator and on-board sensors had no way to know that someone broken and dying was pinned by velocity to its front.

III

            The back of the house was processing a few tickets during the dinner push when Packie stomped into the kitchen again and slammed a stack of plates onto the dishpit counter.

            “Watch it with the attitude, bro,” Danny warned. “We don’t need all that negativity around here.”

            Abuse was scoring the fatty skin of a raw duck breast. “I thrive on negativity,” he said with a smile.

            Danny looked at him. “That’s why we don’t need more,” he said. “You already brought enough.”

            “Work your tickets, please,” Abuse urged.

            Danny sprinkled some crispy strips of fennel onto a mound of salad greens and slid the plate into the window.

            Jux was at the dishpit, still staring at Packie, who was still standing there, huffing and puffing, and not scraping the plates he’d just brought back.

            “Seriously,” Jux said to him. “What is your problem?”

            Packie frowned at him. “I’m going to kill Jered.”

            “He still didn’t show up?” Jux asked.

            “Do you think I’d be back here talking to you if he was here?” Packie asked.

            Jux shrugged. “You have to take your plates somewhere,” he said, “and you’re talking to me right now because I have to remind you to scrape all that shit into the trash before you walk your dumb ass back out there to suck some wino’s cock.”

            Packie’s eyes widened. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

            “He said,” Danny said from the cold side, “that you’re a bitch and you suck wino dyeek.”

            “Sounds pretty accurate,” Abuse said.

            Packie moved up so that he was towering over Jux. “Take it back.”

            Jux turned away and resumed scrubbing a pan. “No,” he insisted.

            For a moment, Packie remained standing imposingly right next to Jux. They were both breathing audibly despite the ambient noise of the kitchen.

            Finally, Jux placed a dripping pan on the drying rack and looked up at the ceiling and asked, “Can you please leave?”

            “I’m not leaving,” Packie said. “What you said was offensive and homophobic.”

            “Oh, Christ,” Jux muttered. “Fine. Sorry that I offended your sexual preferences.”

            Packie snarled at him, literally. “I’m not gay,” he said with disgust.

            Jux cautioned a look at the server’s eyes and then looked over at Danny and Abuse, who were practically eating popcorn in their enjoyment of the episode. “Okay,” Jux said, turning back to Packie, “how about if I’d said ‘lick some wino’s asshole?’ That wouldn’t be homophobic or sexist, would it? I mean, I’m not, personally, into that myself, but everyone’s got an—”

            Packie shoved both hands into Jux’s chest, sending the dishwasher forcefully back against the edge of the sinks.

            “Ah, you like it rough,” Jux muttered, looking around for a powerful rolling pin or, dare he think it, even a knife.

            Packie landed a fist down against the stainless steel counter with such force that it left a dent. “Stop pushing my buttons!”

            “Dude, just get the fuck out of the kitchen,” Abuse told him. “We talk shit all the time, and, you know, most of it is offensive in one way or another. You don’t need to take your lame-ass anxieties out on us back here just because you’re too simple to process a minor work inconvenience.”

            Packie glowered at him. “It is not a ‘minor work inconvenience,’” he whined. “I have four tables right now and since they’re not all getting the treatment, I’m sure it’s going to impact my tip average.”

            The back of the house staff all stared at him.

            “Negatively,” Packie specified.

            “What’s ‘the treatment?’” Jux asked.

            Packie scowled at him again.

            “I’m seriously curious,” Jux said. “I mean, it’ll be a coincidence if it actually involves licking—”

            “You don’t know anything about being a server,” Packie said, straightening his posture. “You can’t just give them water and food and wine or whatever and then go on to the next table. You have to seduce them. They need to feel special. The more special they feel, the more they order, the more they enjoy themselves, and the more they tip. Why do you think my gratuity average was over twenty-five percent last month?”

            “I thought it was because you sniff out the good tables and make the other servers do busy work while you give people ‘the treatment,’” Abuse said.

            “I don’t do that,” Packie said.

            “I’m pretty sure every other server has, at least once, complained that you’re doing exactly that,” Abuse pressed.

            Packie grumbled something and shook his head.

            “So,” Jux said, raising a thoughtful finger, “it seems like wasting time assaulting the kitchen staff would work against all that treatment stuff.”

            Packie’s eyes widened and he briefly glanced at the corner hall to the bar. “You know what?” he announced. “I don’t have time for this.” And he walked out of the kitchen.

            Abuse ladled some pork soup into a big square bowl, set it in the window, and punched the ticket copy with the others on the spike. “Goat cheese.”

            “Already on it, boss,” Danny said with a palmful of sticky white paste.

            Abuse tossed his service gloves in the can. “You okay, Jux?”

            Jux felt his back. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m just pissed, is all. I hate that fucking mongoloid.”

            “That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” Danny said.

            Jux rolled his eyes. “What?” he asked. “Mongoloid?”

            “I don’t even know what that is,” Danny said. “I’m talking about your back right there. You need to say your back hurts now and make Brian pay you some worker’s comp.” He rubbed two fingertips against his thumb.

            Jux shook his head. “I don’t think that would work,” he said. “I’d probably have to press charges for assault and, honestly, my back doesn’t hurt.”

            Danny clicked his tongue. “There you go again,” he said, “saying the wrong thing.”

IV

            Not fifteen minutes later, Teatree came into the kitchen, which was loud with an E-40 track. Jux was loading the dishwasher unit and Danny was plastic-wrapping containers. Abuse was out back calling in the order for the next day’s delivery.

            “Hey, guys,” Teatree called over the music. “Guys?” He adjusted his spectacles and smiled patiently as they finished up their immediate tasks and sent their skeptical attention his way.

            “Wassup, Cockatiel?” Danny asked.

            Teatree pointed at him. “Still don’t know why you call me that,” he said with a chuckle.

            Danny shrugged. “It just kind of started. You know?”

            “Right,” Teatree said.

            E-40 was banging.

            “Is there a reason why you’re back here?” Jux asked courteously.

            “Yeah,” Teatree said. “Looks like Main is all blocked off right now because of some kind of light rail accident and, like, our customers can’t leave until they can do the forensics or something?” He twisted up the end of that sentence in a way that indicated he didn’t know fuck all about what was going on.

            “Light rail accident?” Danny asked, cornering the island to turn down the music. “What, like they hit a car or something?”

            “I honestly don’t know,” Teatree said. “Thing is, these tables can’t leave and some of them are sticking around for more drinks and maybe some food?” Again, it was like his statement implied a question.

            “Fuck no,” Danny said. “Dinner rush is over. We’re wrapping shit up, bro.”

            “I know, I know,” Teatree said. “It’s just that, technically, we don’t close for almost two hours, so maybe it would be okay for them to get some snacks if they want?”

            “Is that a question?” Danny asked.

            Teatree swept his hands out to either side. “Totally up to you,” he said. “I’ll back you up.”

            “Hmmm,” Abuse said as he entered the kitchen. “This looks suspicious.”

            “The road’s shut down,” Danny said, “and now these motherfuckers want to order more food.”

            Abuse cocked an eyebrow. “So?”

            Danny motioned about. “We’re already wrapping shit up,” he said. “What am I supposed to do if they order a stuffed poblano, unwrap the container with the carne asada cheese paste?”

            Abuse squinted at him. “Yes,” he said. “We don’t close for an hour and a half.”

            Danny shook his head. “If the road wasn’t shut down,” he said, “these motherfuckers would just go home.”

            “Maybe that’s true,” Abuse said, “but we can’t deny them service just because they’re still here past what we expected. Why are you wrapping up this early anyway?”

            “Cause nobody ever orders shit past eight on nights like this,” Danny cried.

            “That’s true,” Jux said. “If they start ordering a second dinner because the road’s blocked, we might be here all night.”

            “Hey, if the road’s blocked off,” Teatree offered, “you won’t be able to leave anyway.”

            They all stared at him.

            “I mean,” Teatree continued, “I’ll probably be able to leave because I parked across the street at the library, like we’re all supposed to.”

            “That doesn’t help,” Jux said.

            Teatree inhaled deeply and grinned at Danny. “Can I still get my special mac?”

            “Bitch,” Danny said, “get the fuck out of here.”

            “Teatree’s getting his staff meal,” Abuse said. “This isn’t his fault.” He looked at Teatree. “Is it?”

            Teatree shrugged. “I don’t really know anything other than that the road is blocked off because there was a light rail accident and they have to get forensics in?”

            “Forensics?” Abuse asked. He made a poof sound as he exhaled.

            “What?” Jux asked.

            “Someone fuckin died, dude,” Abuse predicted.

            They were all silent for a long moment as E-40 played at low volume in the background.

            “So I can get that mac, right?” Teatree finally asked.

            Danny tossed up a hand. “Ring it in,” he said, turning to open the cooler.

            Teatree grinned and left the kitchen.

            “All I know,” Danny said as he palmed a couple of mounds of mac and cheese into a pan with a little bit of heavy cream, “is that they better get that shit cleaned up quick, because my lady and I were going to watch Breaking Bad tonight.”

            A ticket printed. Then, before any of them could tear the first, another did as well.

            “What the fuck,” Danny whined.

            Abuse collected the tickets, along with the two others that immediately followed. “Calm down,” he cautioned. “This is easy stuff. Let’s just pretend that we expected to stay open until close, shall we?”

V

            Closing time approached, and the road remained blocked off while the authorities investigated. Tickets kept occasionally printing, too.

            “Goddamn,” Danny cried as he tore the ticket from the printer. “These fools have bottomless stomachs or what? We got any of that pizza dough left? Jux is going to have to make another Wyoming.”

            Jux looked up from a vat of soupy dishwater. “What?” he asked. “Why can’t you do it?”

            “Because the dishwasher is supposed to put the pizzas together when we’re running with three back here,” Danny said.

            “But you don’t have anything to do,” Jux said. He motioned at the stacks of plates on the counter. “Look at this.”

            “Bro,” Danny said. “Pizza.”

            Jux flung some sudsy water from his hands and walked over to the rinsing station. “Who the fuck wants to eat bison testicles on their pizza, anyway?”

            “A32,” Danny said, sliding the ticket up into the clip.

            Jux peered with distaste into the container of diced smoked Rocky Mountain Bison oysters. “Shit is nasty.”

            “I mean,” Abuse posited, “hot dogs, right? Amawrong?”

            After pounding the dough into what more or less looked like a rectangle sufficiently representative of the state of Wyoming, Jux tossed the smoked bison testicle in coffee grounds and proceeded to build the pizza. Then it went into the oven.

            “Smoke break,” Jux announced.

            “Yes,” Abuse agreed, “that’s correct.”

            Back at the patio a few minutes later, Jux and Abuse were puffing their cigarettes and talking about Pokémon when Packie bulled past them with a black can liner that was apparently empty. He dropped it into the dumpster and, on his way back toward the back door, paused for a moment and turned to Jux.

            “I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” Packie said.

            Jux eyed him for a moment and then glanced at Abuse. “You hear something?”

            Packie made a noise in the back of his throat. “You won’t even accept my apology.”

            Jux held up a hand. “What are you apologizing for, exactly?”

            “For saying that I was going to kill Jered,” Packie said. “That kind of talk isn’t ever appropriate.”

            Jux nodded. “I see,” he said. “You’re not apologizing for slamming me against the sink because you’re an insecure bully who can’t stand criticism or take a well-deserved barb.”

            Packie was already fuming. “I didn’t come back here to listen to this.”

            Abuse ticked his head at the dumpster. “You came back here to throw out an empty garbage bag, it looks like.”

            “That,” Packie enunciated, “was a cracked champagne glass.”

            “And you decided it needed to be deposited in an otherwise perfectly usable thirty-gallon trash bag,” Abuse clarified.

            Packie grunted.

            Danny poked his head out from the back room. “This balls pizza’s about to burn, yo,” he told Jux.

            Jux tossed his cigarette onto the cement and crunched it out with a toe.

            “You’re littering,” Packie said with an unbelieving snarl.

            “I’ll collect it later and put it with its friends,” Jux said. “I promise.” He walked to the back door, where Danny was still standing, looking out at the dock. “Hey,” Jux said. “Fucking move so I can take the pizza out.”

            “What, bro?” Danny asked. “I’m just checking the weather. Damn.” He scooted out of the way.

            At the line, Jux immediately punched the numbered button on the console that corresponded with Teatree’s buzzer. Then he removed the pizza from the oven, sliced it into biased strips, and plated it. All without a hitch, which he was grateful for because it meant he wasn’t going to have to deal with cubes of smoked bison testicles for at least fifty days. Everyone predicted that the state-inspired pizza shit was going to fizz out anyway, so, well, that’s what he was hoping for.

            When Teatree made his way back to the kitchen, Danny and Abuse and Packie all arrived as well, like some confluence in the cosmos had propelled them to appear at precisely the same time.

            “And now we are five,” Jux said, stabbing the ticket.

            “This is it for me, guys,” Teatree said as he collected the plate.

            “What?” Abuse asked. “Aren’t there people still out there?”

            Teatree shrugged. “Yes,” he said, “but the bar shuts down at closing time. We’re not allowed to serve after closing.”

            Jux raised his hands. “Great!” he said, smiling at them all. “Maybe we can’t get out of the parking lot, but at least we don’t have to keep making food.”

            “It doesn’t apply to the kitchen,” Teatree said. “It has to do with the alcohol. So, yeah, I’m going to deliver this and wrap things up and then I’m off.”

            “Goddamn,” Jux said. “There is no escape.”

            “Think of it like this,” Abuse suggested, “you’re still on the clock.”

            “Money, bro,” Danny said.

            “At this point,” Jux said, “I don’t care about the money. I just want to leave.”

            “Door’s right there,” Packie said.

            “Shut the fuck up, Packie,” Jux commanded.

            “Well,” Teatree said as he hurried toward the bar exit, “see you tomorrow!”

            “Motherfucker,” muttered Jux.

            “A14 and E26 are talking about bread plates,” Packie said. “I’m going to go ring them in just in case.”

            “Fucking bread plates,” Jux whined.

            Abuse walked over to him. “These people are obviously hungry,” he said. “Maybe they’re bored. Doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of the bread plates.”

            Jux sighed. “It’s not that,” he said. “I can do the bread plates.”

            “Dishpit,” Abuse said.

            Jux looked over at the cluttered counter by the sinks.

            “I’m done here,” Packie said as he left the kitchen.

VI

            Packie’s threat to send in multiple bread plates proved to be empty, because nothing at all came out of the printers during the thirty minutes it took for Teatree to return, surprising as it was, eyes big through his glasses, to announce that Jered’s car was parked in the lot several empty spaces from his own.

            “Hold on just a moment,” Jux said, giving him a palm. “Are you saying the road’s open again?”

            Teatree glanced about. “Yeah.”

            Jux began undoing his apron. “Hell yeah.”

            Packie again stormed into the kitchen. “Main’s opened up,” he announced. “Everyone’s gone.”

            Jux wadded his apron and threw it across the kitchen and, admittedly, pretty close to Packie’s face, toward the linen bin.

           “What was that?” Packie cried.

           “I’m getting out of here,” Jux said. “Sorry if that Richard Cranium of yours almost got in the way.”

           Packie smirked. “Never heard of him.”

           “Are you guys listening to me?” Teatree asked. “Jered’s car is parked right across the street. I only came back here to tell you.”

           Jux nodded. “Uh,” he said, “thanks?”

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