The day still lay ahead, and behind the dark outline of the roofs the same anonymous blur of ash-gray sky remained. It looked like rain. The threatening clouds seemed to follow his every step. They were there, around every corner he turned, every block, every street, like a shadow –always attached to one's feet. It reminded Carmy that things can always go wrong, and for him, they could sure get a whole lot worse.
But then she'd show up later at night, anticipating his smoke break, cheeks and nose red from the cold. Quintana. The young woman would say hello to everyone, careful not to interfere with their work as she walked around their stations and went straight to the small office.
She'd find him there, cigarette already hanging loosely from his lips. Wordlessly, she'd gesture towards the parking lot alley. He'd nod and let her lead him out through the kitchen side door.
Most of their exchanges were silent. Words didn't really matter. Carmen and Quintana always seemed to understand one another, on a different level, right where spirit meets the bone.
In a whisper, she'd ask him about his day. He'd tell her, barely dwelling on the bad, and she'd run her fingers through her hair and mutter "just get through tomorrow", as she sat on her heartache and privately mourned her losses.
For Quintana, the road ahead remained unclear. She felt time slipping away. Too much unsaid. Too much undone.
That's when the subject would change, and the small chuckles would gently begin. That was their weekly ritual. They'd made a habit out of licking their wounds in each other's company. Almost every time it would lead to them laughing behind the restaurant, their backs against the brick wall, about how shitty -yet hilarious- life could be.
"Do You Realize??" by The Flaming Lips flowed out the side door, coming from Ebraheim's battered radio. It engulfed them. They hummed together, for there was solace in knowing that all that they were in that very moment, was all they'd ever be.
