Tom Spittel

Dead Man

24/7 Diner When I roll through the back door into the kitchen, I know that everybody knows. I can feel myself reeling as I shrug off my backpack and throw it on the rack where all the line cooks and dishwashers keep their street clothes. I kick off my sneakers, wrestle on my nonslip shoes and head for the dish area. I need to see Carlito before I clock in, before I do anything at all.