Hot Dogsire

Untitled Part 1

"God, I'm hungry," I think to myself as I leave the court for the day. Public defending isn't the best job in the world, but I like to think of it as a service that has to be done. Hopefully I can get out of this horrible job, and be noticed by a big firm. I pay for my parking, and get in my '97 Corolla. I hate riding in this thing, but it gets me to work and back home. Every day.

I roll up to the parking attendant, an older woman who chain smokes 24/7. "Hey, Dorris."

"Hello, Tyler. Anything interesting tonight?" she says as she blows smoke out of the window, almost into my car and in my face.

Scrunching up my nose, I reply, "Nope. Just gonna grab a bite to eat, and head home. Say, do you know any places nearby that I can get something quickly before I head home?"

"Uhh..." She pauses for a second and thinks. "You know that hotdog place everyone loves across town?"

"Which one?" I replied. There's about 5 I can think of, but none even remotely nearby.

"Dog'A'Dozen. They just opened a new place two blocks down from here. Had some last night, it was good."

She was interrupted by the car behind me honking. "Thanks, Dorris, see you tomorrow!" I say as I drive out, asking Siri to give me directions to this fabled hot dog stand. Two blocks to the right, so I head that way.

It was sunset at this point, as it is early fall and the sun is setting earlier than before. I get to the unmistakable yellow building with sliding service windows on one side, with a counter jutting out for customers to lean and conduct business on. I pull into a parking spot and walk up to the counter. On the inside, the stand was lined with grills with a central island made of generic industrial kitchen sheet metal where all the final hotdogs and other goods are prepared. On the wall with windows, they cook the hotdogs right in front of you, and there is a small outcrop on the far left and right to both take and serve orders.

Then I see him.

A 20-something man, with hair as dark as the night sky, and a wide chest tapering off into his waist which is significantly thinner than his chest, but not close enough to be weird. He sets down a spatula and wipes his forehead with his arm and approaches me. I finally look at his face, partially obscured by a face mask and smile at him. Though his mouth was covered, I could tell he was smiling back.

"Welcome to Dog'A'Dozen, how can I help you?" He asked me, slightly tilting his head to show he's interested in what I have to say, almost like a puppy. He picked up a pen and paper to write down my order.

"Can I get... Actually I've never been here before, what is best for the first time?" I was lying, and I knew it. I had been a few times to the other location across town, even representing them when they got audited a few years ago.

"You could start with a hot dog, but I guess that's too general for you, huh?" He laughs as if he was trying to lighten the mood, but as far as I could tell nothing had happened. Did I make him uncomfortable? I laughed too, racking my brain as to what I did to make things awkward.

"Yeah, that works, I would think. Do you have any mustard?"

"Yes-sir," he says with what I would assume to be a big smile. It was hard to tell under his mask. "We make two types right here, in the store daily. We have honey mustard and Dijon mustard available, or just classic store bought yellow."

"Can I get a hotdog and Dijon?" I hand him a $20 from my wallet.

"Of course! Would you like a soda with that?"

"No thanks, I have water in my car." He hands me my change, but I just toss it in my pocket instead of my wallet.

"I'll have it out for you in a minute sir."

I walk back to my car, still amazed at how cute this guy is. I open the door and toss my suit jacket into the passenger seat and pick up my water. I see a few spare business cards of mine laying in the second cup holder in the center console. I pick one up.

By the time I'm walking back to the stand, hes already prepared the hot dog and put it in one of those generic little paper baskets with the red and white checkered pattern on them. "Thanks," I say to him while grabbing the basket from him. It has the mustard in a little plastic cup, the size of the palm of my hand.

"Have a good evening!" he says as I already am walking away. I sit down on a bench and face the store, and start to eat. I watch him out of the corner of my eye lean on the center table, facing towards me. He pulls out his phone and slips an earbud in. I'm assuming he's the only one here at the moment as he suddenly is all casual with his posture. At this point I was totally distracted from my food, and paid for it. The mustard cup, which I had taken the lid off of had spilled onto my pants.

I step up to the stand. "Sorry to be a bother, but do you have a napkin?"

"Oh! Yes, I do!" He quickly stuffs his phone into his pocket and gives me a stack of napkins. I hand him my business card, and give him a thanks. He gives me a slightly confused look, but puts the card into his pocket-- the same pocket his phone was in.

I wipe the mustard off my pants and throw my now dirt-covered hotdog in the trash. I get into my car and drive home.

Hours later, I'm stepping out of my shower. As I dry my hair, I get a text. I pick up my glasses. It's from an unknown number, same area code as me.

"Hey, this is Cole, the guy from the hotdog stand."

END CHAPTER 1.