Crash

It’s late. There at the end of the counter sits a tray with four layer-cakes waiting to be moved to the walk-in. Closing mere minutes away, meanwhile we see the busboy clearing tables, the servers prepping their station; the hostess cashing out, while the manger, in the back, turning off exterior lights. All hoping for no more customers.

Until.

A regular customer steps in, stops, looking around, stumbles to the end of the counter, sits disgruntled, finding a baking tray in his way.

All stop and watch while he contemplates his predicament.

With care, contemptuously, slid the offending tray… forward.