No More Lies
by Joseph Veronneau
“C’mon now, really.” he says to her, sitting in the booth at the diner.
“What?” she replies.
He signs the top slip and leaves the other behind. He tips his drink once before standing up. He is all brawn and his leather coat scrunches as he puts it on.
Food particles that missed sit on the floor. It doesn’t appear to have been swept in a couple of days. The cook in the back calls out a number, and drops silent again.
The look on her face was a knowing look. She had been caught. Red-handed and handcuffed once again.
As they reached the door, she grabbed a toothpick from the container. She stabbed it up thru its paper, and shoved it in her mouth. As she got to the door, she glanced back at me, sitting there noticing, yet minding my own. I got the knowing look too, except I liked it.
