The
waitress looks haggard and worn. I know just from looking at her that she’s
dealing with a hangover. Drunks can recognize each other; I have seen the world
through the look in her eyes. It’s like a psychic bond among lushes. I can tell
reality is hurting her right now. Her service suffers (I have to hunt her down
for the check after thirty missing minutes) but I try to be polite and nice and
when I leave, I leave behind a generous tip (25%). I want to give her
encouraging words. I wish I could slip her a nip to help get her through her
shift. I have dealt with the same agony she’s dealing with countless times, my
compassion is hard won. But she’s tough. She’ll make it through. Like we all
do.
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