Old Oil

Today I watched a strange woman with bad teeth make hamburgers. She made them for hours, for strangers, each one the same as before. She must go home at night and smell like beef grease, wake up smelling like it, go to work and smell like it some more. I wonder how many shirts she's ruined, how many tiny burns she has on her hands from flecks of spattered grease.

I ordered mine, medium rare, it came back well done but there was nothing to say. I ate it and enjoyed it mostly. Everyone in there was. And as we left we probably smelled like meat and old oil, too. But I can shower, I never have to go back again. Although we all have our diners, one way or another.