I spend my days doing odd-jobs around Brooklynn, sending and delivering my resume across the shops I could find that were hiring: I’ve applied to jewelry stores, department stores and all sorts of places and nobody’s ever called back. Some days I spend my afternoon and early evening being a bike-courier, helping sort through trash or helping scrub graffiti and things of that sort of walls for chump change or a free meal. I don’t know how long I’ll be like this, poorer than I have ever been till I can afford to do something.

I barely had time to get back home, shower and change into a longer sleeved shirt and coat over jeans and work boots as I brushed my hair back, grabbed my glasses and apron as I rushed out, nearly forgetting my phone before rushing off through the subway stations and bus routes to get to Wall Street before walking down the block towards the retro building on the corner. The Wall Diner: a single story capsule shaped building of molded corrugated aluminum and large curved windows around it, huge neon sign above the red double doors that despite being in prefect condition always seems to be flickering. It was extremely dark save for the street lights and the lights of the bank headquarters a block away. I quickly walked in and started getting ready for another long…long night of work. Inside is just the same as any other 50s diner: checkboard tile, wrap-around bar counter with a mirrored top and red walls, red/chrome stools and matching booths along the walls and very few matching tables, the walls covered in photos and memorabilia about the diner and history of New York.

“Hey, dipshit! Where’s the chick at!?” Some stockbroker snapped at me as I was delivering the table he was sitting at coffee, I sighed deeply.

“Mika has school so I’m covering her for the rest of the school year, don’t worry…its just a few months” I said putting on my best customer service voice before walking back around and grabbing a few more tickets to send around the spinning panel for Nikolas in the kitchen.

“God, I don’t know why he’s the waiter now…I usually only come here so late at night because that previous waitress was so hot: she had the largest tits I’ve ever seen on a woman, she was always so sweet and kind.” Another broker said from the corner booth as I passed to deliver a pot of coffee to another table.

“Thank you, come again!” I called as a group left and as I gathered their bill and tip, the tip was only five dollars on a near forty dollar bill. I sighed deeply as I walked back into the back area and refilled the tray with plates and things before smiling and walking back out onto the floor. Because there were people in here, Nikolas’ kitchen was currently blaring classic rock, but the moment that last dude leaves, out goes the rock music and in comes the 80s pop icons where he sings and dances along to them knowing every word to every song no matter how obscure.

“Eh, toots…can I get another coffee!” someone called out, less asking, more ordering to which I could only get the pot and walk over to refill it before going back to gathering dirty dishes, bringing out orders amongst everything else of that sort. Only got one plate thrown at me that night, so…same old, same old. These brokers man.

It was late, late into my shift, I was leaning on the wall just past the little archway into the kitchen as I counted the tips I’ve made. I sighed deeply as I looked up.

“Why the sighing?” Nikolas asked poking his head out through the window, still bouncing around to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

“Across all of today’s shift…I’ve got fifty bucks in total.”

“Even with that group that always has the like seventy plus bill?”

“They tipped me nothing and just wrote, get a better job on the tip line.”

“Oh…I’m sorry, Anthony.” He said. Nikolas is the kind of guy to act super, super manly and macho to hide the fact he loves some more feminine things, he’s in maybe his mid-thirties, short black hair, covered in tattoos, thick short beard and dark eyes, fairly pale and dresses in all black, he also has the thickest Italian Long Island accent I’ve ever heard.

“It’s fine…It’s fine…” I said holding my hand up, “Just looks like its dollar store ramen for dinner for the rest of the week…again.”

“Dude, I’ve offered to make you food.”

“I can’t trouble you like that.” I said shaking my head when the door’s bell jangled. “Hi, welcome to The Wall!” I called out as I walked back into the floor. It was…him again, I looked towards the clock, as normal…on the dot, four am.