Checked.

“Granny, why is it there’s always loud noises, like a banging sound, coming from next door at night?”

“Well, sweetie, most people around here struggle to... keep their homes, you see”,Grandma Oletta replies while having difficulty looking for her work apron.“You just ignore those noises as much as you can and pray everything is alrig-- there you are”, she finds her uniform and rushes over to her granddaughter, Sōlace, then plants a kiss on her forehead. Out of breath, she says, “Just pray everything is alright with our neighbors, okay sweetie? Mama will be home soon.”

Stepping into the midday Summer sun, Oletta shuts the door behind her. Harsh heat blankets her skin, weighing her down as she makes her way to the nearest bus stop.

‘Marjorie’s’ is a diner open twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. It sits closer to the more prosperous parts of the county. The establishment is popular among young professionals during the day and party-goers by night. Upon arrival, Oletta is stopped by the manager on duty. With her hands tying her apron behind her, Oletta says, “I’m so sorry, David. I know it’s only a few minutes but the bu--”. The manager interrupts her, “It’s fine, it’s fine. Maggie called out today and I’m hoping you can fill in for her.”

“Sir, My scheduled shift is already well over 12--yes... yes, of course. I can do that.”

“Fantastic! Also, Oletta, there was a slight discrepancy with one of your checks yesterday. It seems the check was not paid in full.”

“Oh my. I am so s--”, David interrupts Oletta with a careless tone, “Now if anything like that happens again I will have to take it out of your paycheck. You understand.”

Oletta wipes the sweat from the side of her brow, “Yes, sir.”

Summer late nights in south Florida vary in comfort. At its best, a cool, brisk breeze carries itself and a subtle scent of saltwater across the mainland. Tonight, a small group of colleagues exit their bar after a long and grueling shift to encounter a distasteful, humid atmosphere that remains stagnant all around them. The types of conditions you want to evade or, counter-productively, run away from.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! It’s hot as shit out here…”, Jason, drunk on a combination of alcohol, drugs, and self-absorption, vocalizes his complaints, “...fuck this. What’s next?”

He turns to his co-workers for an answer. Manuel, who is pouring sweat, calmly replies, “I can go for some food. Maybe Marjorie’s?”

“Oh my god, yes!”, Brittany replies, “ I’d love some pancakes.”

Jason turns to Manuel and pats his stomach while swinging his other arm around his shoulders, “I bet you could go for some grub, tub-tub.”

“I’m down”, Jefferey added. With everyone in agreeing, Jason demands, “But! Shots first. Come on. I have about a quarter of a bottle of whiskey in my car.”

He walks away from the group. “Oh no, no, no. You’re not driving”, Brittany responds. Loudly, Jason snaps back, “Damn straight I’m not driving. Someone call a cab.”

The remaining group of three hesitantly follow Jason. Jefferey reluctantly reaches for his phone. “I’ll call”, he says.

The group enters the establishment, relieved. By this time, the diner is mildly full. Chattering from different booths abound and discreet creeks from the ceiling fans create a slow but steady tempo that count down to the...TING from the kitchen signaling a prepared meal. “Fuckin’ hell, we made it!”, Jason adds to the noise. Brittany hails an elderly woman walking by with a tray of empty plates, “Hi. Can we have a table for four.”

“Of course, honey. One just opened up there in the corner”, Oletta replies, seemingly exhausted.

“Thank you so much”, Brittany responds. The group take their seats. Jason and Jefferey head into the booth first, sitting across from one another. Brittany and Manuel follow. “I love the blueberry pancakes here”, Brittany volunteers, “What are you guys getting?”

“I can go for a burger”, Jefferey replies.

“I’d know once we get some menus over here for fuck’s sake.”, Jason vocalizes while he looks over his colleague’s shoulder, looking for a waitress. Manuel places his elbows on the table with one hand over the other against his chin. Jefferey makes an observation, “Looks busy and I’m only seeing one waitress.”

“Under staffing can be a bitch, ain’t that right tub-tub?”, Jason directs a line of inquiry towards Manuel. Manuel stays silent.

TING.

“Poor lady”, Brittany adds. Jefferey weighs in, “Yea, she looks overwhelmed. You guys wanna go someplace else? Maybe lighten the load for her?”

“Fuck that shit. I’m not going back out there. We made it here. She’s fine”, Jason responds.

Oletta approaches with one hand full of three glasses of water, a small stack of menus under one arm, and a fourth cup of water held on her other hand. “Here you go, everyone. Some water and menus. Give me just one second, I’ll be right back for your order”, she says. Everyone in the table thanks Oletta except Jason who asks, “...is there any way to turn the air conditioner up a notch?”

He continues while holding back a smile and points to Manuel, “My large friend here needs to stay cool at all times.”

Oletta lays her hand on Manuel as a kind gesture of reassurance, “I’ll see what I can do, hun.” Jason and Jefferey look through their menus. Manuel and Brittany are prepared to order.

After some moments the remaining two are ready as well. They begin to chat to break the silence of waiting for the nice lady’s return to their table.

Oletta, after frantically resetting the coffee machine per the manager’s demands, looks over to the table of four. She notices the menus flat on the table with their attentions held on one another. Patting her hands on her apron, she makes her way to the table. She reaches for her writing pad, “Now what can I get ya’ll.”

“I’ll have the blueberry pancakes”, Brittany declares.

“I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger. Medium”, Jefferey says. Oletta responds, “French fries or sweet potato fries?”

“Sweet potato. Also, can I have more water?”

“Of course.”

TING.

Manuel anxiously adds, “For me, the large Nachos with everything and add bacon. Extra bacon. Also, mozzarella sticks with extra marinara.”

Jason begins his order, “And I’ll d--”

“AND!...An order of chicken wings. Please. Buffalo.”

Jason looks over at Manuel after his interruption, “Are you done? Are you sure?”

Brittany and Oletta giggle quietly as Manuel nods his head. “Jesus Christ”, Jason continues, “I’ll have an order of wings. Lemon pepper. And some fries. Sweet potato.”

“Okay, everyone all set? I’ll just take these menus out of your way”, says Oletta as she reaches over the table. Then she hears her name shouted from the kitchen. The prepared food had been under the heat lamps for some time. As she begins to rush away from the group, Jason stops her, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m sorry, do you have buffalo sauce for the wings?”

“I have buffalo, bar-b-q, spicy bar-b-q, lemon pepper”, Oletta responds while hiding her impatience. Jason continues, “Oh shit, spicy bar-b-q?”

TING, TING, TING, TING.

“Oletta!”

“Which one, hun”, Oletta calmly urges Jason.

“I’ll take the buffalo.”

Oletta turns around quickly making her way to the kitchen.

Jason lowers his head back to the attention of his colleagues and scoffs, “Don’t be rushing me...you...section eight bitch.”

The group falls quiet for a moment that precedes Brittany and Manuel reluctantly letting out a quiet giggle. Jason looks over to Jefferey. He isn’t looking for a reaction because he isn’t aware of the potential calamity of his words. “I don’t think that’s funny. I think you’re a piece of shit for saying that”, Jefferey says swiftly.

Jason’s eyes widen, “What? Why? What the fuck?”

“That shit you said is racist. That was a racist ass comment and you’re a piece of shit for saying that.”

“Yo, what in the fuck. I’m not racist! It was just a joke.”

“Well it was a shitty, racist joke.”

“I’m not fucking racist. Quit saying that shit. How the fuck is that racist?!”

“Why is she a “section eight bitch”? You said that because she’s black. I feel stupid just repeating you. You’re a piece of shit.”

TING.

“Stop calling me a piece of shit, goddammit!”

Manuel and Brittany try to deescalate the situation; rather, they try to lower Jason’s voice who has captured the diner’s attention. Jefferey calmly stands by what he has said.

“It was just a fucking joke man. I’m not a racist!”

Manuel and Brittany’s efforts fall flat. Jason grows aggressive and uneasy.

“You’re a fucking asshole”, Jason attacks.

“And you’re a piece of shit who makes racist jokes.”

“FUCKING...fuck you! Fuck this shit! Let me get the fuck out of here. Fuck this guy.”

Manuel stands out of the booth to let Jason out. Before leaving the table, Jason points at Jefferey and gives him a firm, “fuck you.”

Oletta walks towards the table of three with a tray full of food unaware of what had just transpired. She thinks nothing of the sight of one of her patrons missing from the table. She begins to lay their food on the table, respectively, “Blueberry pancakes. Nachos with all your bacon. Bacon cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and buffalo wings.”

Oletta brings the tray under her arm and is interrupted from putting down the wings. Brittany notifies Oletta of Jason’s departure. Oletta sincerely replies, “Oh my. Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Just a slight mix-up. But we’ll pay for the food”, Brittany explained.

“Yea, we’ll pay for the food”, Jefferey insists.

“No. No”, Oletta, wiping sweat from the side of her face, responds, “No. It’s...it’s okay. I’ll take care of this for ya’ll. Don’t you worry. I just hope your friend is okay. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from here.”

Oletta smirks.

“You sure? We really don’t mind. We understand how--”, Brittany is interrupted by Oletta, “It’s fine. Please, enjoy your meal. Can I get you anything else?”

With the assurance of the trio’s content, Oletta makes her way back to the kitchen, worried. She thinks about what her manager has told her earlier then, her granddaughter.

Jason, filled with a blinding, drunk, irrational rage stomps down the sidewalk. The humidity clings on to his anger debilitating his sense of reason. Sweat pours down his cringed eyebrows. He curses and yells to himself looking for assurance. He has a long walk ahead of him. After an hour, Jason arrives home. Drenched in sweat, he drags his steps to the front door, never once letting go of his anger or loosening his brow. He enters his home with a yell, “FUCK!”

Then slams the door behind him.

Sōlace hears a bang.