Cafe 2 WP

“How much further?” asked James peering out the side window of the truck.

Marcy, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, used the other to gesture.

“Another quarter-mile then I’ll hang a left.  Frank said we’d see it on the right a half-mile down.”

“I hope he knows what he’s talking about.  This is costing us a bundle.  I don’t want to get there and have this be one of his jokes!  Somebody might call the cops.”

“Relax.  Frank wouldn’t joke about this.  Okay, here’s the turn.  Keep looking for it on your side.  It’ll have a sign: “Martin’s Cafe”.  Frank said to drive on in and Grant will take care of us.”

“I see the sign.  There’s a man out front.  Wonder if that’s Grant?”

Marcy pulled the truck around the graveled lot, parking between two other trucks already there.  She and James got out.  The man approached them, smiling, hand outstretched.

“Hello.  I’m Grant. You must be Marcy and James.”

“Yes,” said Marcy, as they shook his hand.

“You’re the last guests to arrive.  Follow me and I’ll get you taken care of right away,” said Grant, turning to walk toward the building.

They looked at each other, grinned, and trailed Grant into the building where they were seated in a raised area on comfortable chairs with a small table in between.  Grant provided them with drinks and told them they would be served shortly.  They could smell the wonderful scent of bacon coming from the back, presumably the kitchen.

They looked around and saw several occupied tables in the dimly lit room.  It was quiet, no one was even carrying on a whispered conversation.  They didn’t have long to wait.

The double door’s at the back swung open and a man and woman dressed in green uniforms came out pushing a serving cart of filled salad bowls.  These were served to everyone.

As they ate, the only sounds heard were the tinkling of forks going in and out of the bowls.  The servers came and cleared the bowls away as soon as they finished.

A few minutes later, the double doors opened again, and Grant came through pushing a much larger serving table.  He parked it in the middle so that everyone could see from the raised seating area.  The large cover was removed and the room filled with appreciative murmurs at the sight of the superbly roasted meat.  It was the source of the delicious bacon aroma permeating the air.

“Choose your cut,” said Grant.  “I will slice and it will be brought to you.”

As each request rang out, Grant sliced and the servers served.  Then it was James and Marcy’s turn.

They’d already decided.  “Rump, medium.  Thinly sliced, for the both of us,” announced James.

Grant smiled, nodded, and began to carefully cut thin slices of meat from Martin’s well-cooked ass.

“Remember,” he said as he placed the meat on plates, “When you send your friends back, tell them to look for “Luther’s Cafe.”

End

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