Excitement of Renewal

Wednesday. 3:35 P.M.

"Hi, I’m Gabe," he says as he removes a pad and pencil from a small pouch about his waist, "I’ll be you’re waiter for this afternoon."

Gabriel; quiet, shy, dull. He stands, waiting for the order from this elderly couple. They give the order in a quiet, kind tone. Gabe rights it down. No facial expression, no word leaving his mouth, until the order has been copied onto the small paper.

"It will be ready shortly." The elderly couple nods. He’s supposed to say that. It does not mean that the meal will be ready shortly, he does not know when it will be ready. He takes the slip to the kitchen window and lays it upon the ledge. He then leaves for another table.

Gabe is one of those guys that seem to blend with a crowd, and yet, will always stick out. His physical appearance is very distinguishable; long green hair, tied into a short tail, slender build, rather tall. Something about his eyes seems to portray this sense of death. Gabe used to be a bright, exuberant individual. He never expected to be broken by such a trivial job. Who knew that a restaurant could kill a man?

He hates his job, he hates his boss, and he hates that damn golf cap, wrapped around his head, with its small emblem of the establishment embroidered onto the front.

"I’m not very satisfied with your work today…" This is Joey, the boss of the restaurant. He’s short, he’s stupid, and he’s annoying. His voice seems to pierce into the depths of Gabriel’s mind. Maybe I’ll have a seizure, maybe his voice will cause my brain to simply stop, please, please…

Wednesday. 6:20 P.M.

Home life: sitting on the couch, the mild glow of the television radiating off the faces of the four roommates. Loony Toons: a true masterpiece of human creation. Weed: the only "mind altering substance" to make this situation better every time. A pipe is passed back and forth, across the couch. Gabe, Kitty, and Jim, sitting upon the couch, Terry lying across their laps. On average, this is their home life. Sure, occasionally, someone will have to do something of pertinence, but not now. Time stops, now. This isn’t what life used to be like. Life was different. Life was worth while.

There hasn’t been a rave in three months. It feels like an addiction, now. They need their hit, that one beautiful hit of pure pleasure. But alas, it won’t happen. Life sucks, it doesn’t favor four losers... then again, I could be wrong.

Weed causes the senses to dull down. Sight, touch, even sound. The sound of a ringing phone is no exception.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Terry grabs the phone after it’s third ring. After four rings, the answering machine catches the call.

"Hello?" she says into the mouthpiece, not really a question, more of a trained reaction. No one seems to notice the small grin on the corner of her soft lips.

"Alright, " she says, "I’ll see you there." She lays the phone onto the holder. With little effort she rolls onto the floor, and rises to her feet, only to block the view of the television. Without the needed stimulation of the television, three still occupying the couch are forced to peer up.

"Friday night," she says, "site will be e-mailed." God himself couldn’t raise the dead like this.

Thursday. 11:43 A.M.

Kitty stayed home today to catch the e-mail. Kitty works at Burger King. Kitty hates Burger King. She called in sick; claiming the bubonic plague had engulfed her body. She only had three hours to live. Her boss hung up, she laughed. Jim was fired from his job two days ago. He worked at the Olive Garden. He spit into the salad of a middle-aged man… as he was handing it to him. Gabe still must work, but not for long.