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"I swear I should just quit!" I was running out the waste to the back dumpster. The slighted girl, or at least the only one I thought could have been due the job, was hauling back on a Marlboro, twisting her very good looks and looking decidedly younger than she was, "It was my fucking turn! What the hell is wrong with her?"I just shrugged noncommittally."Seriously, fuck," she hissed out a bluish cloud, "pure horseshit."I wasn't really listening to Courtney, she had been working as a buser and hostess since she was seventeen. She was nineteen now, old enough to serve alcohol, so she figured she was due her place. I did my smile and give unhelpful good feelings to her but otherwise I just tossed the latex gloves in the dumpster after the trash bags. I'm sure she said something else but the door closed behind me.I let the drama wash over me. I understood the frustration between employee and employer but I was hardly invested in it. I had a sort of neglectful relationship with my. If the sun was shinning I would be obvious from the other side of the street. But now I am hidden. I am hidden and humiliated. The rain pours down my face, down my soaked clothes and forms puddles around my feet. But I can only be glad for the rain. It’s a kind of shield. The rain is so heavy, maybe I am not really seeing what I am seeing? Maybe I am not feeling what I am feeling? The numbness has started in the pit of my stomach and spread. It has the tingling feeling of love, combined with the grinding sickness of betrayal. Standing under the awning of the restaurant, I look across the road to the scene being played out before me. I am ashamed of myself, but I have been following him all day. I followed him from the office, as he ran his errands, till he arrived at this pub. And it was here I was ‘rewarded’ for my efforts. She was waiting out the front but she held no significance for me till my husband kissed her on the cheek and escorted her inside. And now I am standing across.
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” “You must really love your wife,” I smiled, thinking about how long they had probably been together. He seemed to be in his mid-fifties and I believed that was about the age his wife probably was. “If you are willing to live in this to make her happy.” “I do love her,” he nodded, his eyes locking with my own. “Though I feel that she does not love me back.” “Why do you say that?” I asked him concerned. It was sad if he did not think that his wife loved him. “She must love you.” “There was a time in which I thought she did,” her gave a remembered smile, as if he were dreaming of the past. “Then I came into money and well, she fell out of love with me and in love with the money.” “You can’t believe that to be true,” I suggested, though I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was serious. “I am,” he frowned. “Take this party tonight. We are all dressed up in expensive clothes, eating expensive food, being the best of the best in this town and where is she? In the center of it.

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