It felt less like the great mystery had been revealed and more like it had splintered into millions of little mysteries jostling in the darkness.
FIRST FRIDAYS BY ZACH SWISS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 93
“Two eggs or three today?” asks the man behind the counter and the woman says, “Make it three.” He whistles, says, “Must have a big day planned.” The griddle sizzles. “Hot sauce and pepper?” he asks and the woman replies, “You know how I like it.” She takes the tin-foiled sandwich and passes a five. “You have a good one, Mary,” he says, bumping the till shut with his thigh. “Who’s next?”
Sarah is next. “Bacon, egg, and cheese.” It’s the order she places every Friday. He does not ask how many eggs she’d like or if she wants hot sauce or pepper. Three would be nice and yes, she’d like both.
“Comes to $4.53. Ten dollar card minimum,” he says, placing the sandwich on the counter. Never once has she not paid cash and often she has exact change. “Have a good weekend,” Sarah says, but he has m…