They don't think I can hear them as they whisper their snide and hateful comments.
"Look at that poor waitress."
They don't think I see their looks of pity they throw her way as I pass their tables.
"Her boyfriend must have left her."
They don't know her, no one here does. They don't know the truth.
They just see a young blond pregnant waitress, dead on her feet and struggling to pay the bills.
They don't know it would just take a phone call to get out of this.
But I won't, he deserves better than a poor waitress.
