"You can always close your eyes"
~anonymous
The morning air was cold and unforgiving as he walked down the sidewalk. Pulling an all nighter was tough, but he needed the cash. Rent was due next week, the heater was broken, and he hadn't eaten a real meal in three days. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he smiled at the wad of various bills curling around his fingers. He briefly felt the pressure of a guilty memory behind his eyes, but pushed it back before it could manifest. It was the only way to keep paying the bills, and if he had to pretend it wasn't real, it wasn't real. Glancing through the window of a restaurant, he smiled. It was nearly empty but that was perfect. He was quick to take a seat at one of the many open tables. The grumbling in his stomach seemed to echo in the quiet. Slipping out of his heavy jacket, he set it over the back of his chair and dropped his bag to the floor. Stretching out, he grinned when a waitress appeared. She was young, no older than twenty, no older than he was. She fell immediately for his million-dollar smile, fumbling with her pad of paper before blushing the color of the carpet.
"Hi… um, what can I get for you today?" She asked, watching the table more than him. He laughed a little, resting his chin on his palm.
"The biggest plate of French toast you have, please." He smiled at her once more and turned to the window as she left, watching the people and busses pass by. Previous thoughts invaded his mind, and he shook his entire body to get them out. He had to keep smiling, keep awake, and keep thinking of food. The smell of maple syrup took over, and he grinned. The waitress returned with a pot of coffee, filling his mug and setting a glass of water in front of him. "Thanks." He smiled, taking it black. The searing liquid burned his throat, but he was warm and it felt good. The food came shortly after, his plate spotless in under five minutes. Alcohol, chocolate, and ramen were not enough to live on. Pulling his jacket back over his shoulders, he took the money out of his pocket, leaving thirty dollars on the table. Tips were invaluable- he knew that first hand. Grabbing his bag, he ignored the sting of the air and continued his brisk walk toward home- his escape from reality.