Constance thought she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. She has a steady job as a hairstylist, rents a small apartment next door to her best friend, and keeps a routine that distracts her just enough to not have to dwell on her past.
All...
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With the man's hand in mine, I pull him out of the shop before my boss can scold me for leaving a little early.
We zigzag through confused onlookers and then turn down an alley with the only sound between us being my stupid shoes tapping the pavement and his pants dropping clumps of dirt every few feet. For being short and in heels, I sure can walk fast and Mr.Hobo is learning that as he power walks to keep up. Its not a long distance to get food when you take the shortcut between the buildings but the poor guy probably thinks I'm going to murder him in the alleyway.
Eventually, the most glorious sight appears from around the backside of the shopping center; Larry's food truck. There are some picnic tables in front with questionable stability and ketchup bottles standing next to a basket of plastic wear on top of said tables.
It's beautiful!
"This place may look abandoned," I tell the man whose hand I'm still clutching. "But I promise you they sell the best burgers you'll ever try. Just pick whatever you want."
I look at his dirt coated face and knotted beard that slumps down in confusion. He's probably never had someone buy him a meal and if he has I bet it's been a good long while. Nobody should have to go hungry; a feeling I know all too well.
At that exact moment, his stomach makes a loud, hollow plead and I smile while handing him a paper menu.
I don't even have to knock on the window. Larry has a sixth sense about his customers and somehow always knows when I'm here- it could also be that I talk loudly. A familiar old man with deep set eyes and dark wrinkled skin opens the slot, giving me a bigger-than-life smile.
"Constance! Do you ever tire of my cooking?" He leans out the window with a half chewed toothpick hanging from his mouth.
"Never, Larry! If I were rich, You'd be my personal cook. I'd have burgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner." All of this is true. I practically give him half my tips as it is.
"I don't doubt that. You want the usual?"
"Yes and whatever my friend here is having." I point to the man whose name I really need to learn.
They both look at me. Larry's eyes glide between the man and I, asking what I'm doing with a hobo and the hobo is looking at me with the same confusion he's been wearing since we got to the food truck.
"What I get is half a pound of hamburger meat, like eight strips of bacon, guacamole, fried onion rings, two slices of provalone cheese and the special sauce. Do you want to try that?"
