Mark clubs the best golfer ever

Fly like an eagal

Mark pointed to the picture of him hanging on the wall of the second best booth in the eatery, "who's this handsome devil."
"So do you come here often."
"Well yeah, yeah I do best kababs in the city."
He shot a stray finger gun at a passing member of the waitstaff. They didn't turn their head but mumbled a tired "Hey Mark."
"All the crew know me."
"So you kept coming back and now your pictures on the wall?"
"No, no Lake, my picture is on the wall because I'm a celebrity. You know best golfer in the world? I kept coming back because they were the only place to put up my picture after me eating and I can't reject the fans."
The waitress from before plunked two wrapped Turkish kababs in brown paper down in-front of the duo.
"Now they can be a bit hot at times."
Mark waned as he patted his steaming kabab checking to see how likely he was to burn his tongue by putting it in his mouth.
Lake pealed away the paper from his kabab and with no hesitation took his first bite with seemingly no distress related to the temperature of the meal, Mark was going to mention that Lakes kabab was probably made first and so not as fresh-hot as his own so he wasn't being a wimp or nothing by blowing on it and waiting for it to cool down etcetera, but he thought that would have made it sound like the kabab shop he had vouched for was inefficient leaving massive gaps between the construction of orders and so he kept his mouth shut not wanting his recommendation to be challenged.
"Shoe the children with no shoes on their feet"
A white JBL speaker that was yellowing on the side due to age had just been turned up playing the Steve Miller Band's fly like an eagle.
Mark wrapped his fingers along the linoleum table.
"Oh my god love a bit of the Mills, who put this one on? Rodger?"
He looked to the guy whipping down the display cabinet his seat squelching as he turned to him, he raised his voice higher to be heard over the music.
"Rodger did you put this on."
Rodger stoped wiping and shouted back to Mark. "Uh no I think, I think that Em put this on the overnight playlist."
There was another squelch as Mark turned to the waitress.
"Emira I didn't know you liked the Mills?"
"Yeah. I do."
Emira was clearly not interested in conversation at 11pm, so Mark focused back in on his new friend Lake.
"You like Steve Miller Band?"
"No I only listen to deathgrips."
"Cal loved them."
A sudden shudder of cold emotion crept through Mark, a tear rolled down his cheek dropping of his face and ever so slightly seasoning his kabab as it splashed onto the flatbread.
"Are you crying dude?"
Lake asked, leaning closer.
"No. It's just the hot sauce in my kabab."
"You got mayo."
"She loves another man."
Mark whispered and hung his head, as the chorus of fly like and eagle took him back to time when his heart was yet to be broken. The open meat and salad of his kabab formed images in his mind the chicken was her face back in October just a year or so ago, the lettuce was the fake prehistoric trees of the dinosaurs themed mini golf where they had shared a kiss under a styrofoam diplodocus, after they beat her mum and stupid stepdad flawlessly in duos round, then the picture faded away and he was just staring into an increasingly wet kabab. He collapsed sobbing into the kabab. He barely heard Lake make an excuse about how "it was getting late, and he had school in the morning." And call and Uber.
17 minutes later he felt the broom nudging his upper body as Emira drove him out of the kabab shop. He barley felt anything he was numb with pain at he fumbled his keys into his cart and drove into the darkness.