Restaurant Story This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


Bread is in restaurants
only to hold hungryfolks over,
to prevent them from fading away withhunger.
It's compensation for guaranteed slowservice.

A short waiter with gelled hair and a thinmustache
wearing a maroon apron
shoots the bread out ofthe kitchen. He's
like a sprinter off the blocks.It's
warm, fresh bread, crunchy crusts, soft inside.
Ilike to pull the inside out
and roll it into a bread ballof a new texture.

When service is unbearably slow,
Imay go so far as to eat a whole loaf by myself.
Mywell-mannered sister says this is rude.
I don't care.
Iam hungry.

The waiter keeps coming
with water Idon't need.
I hear the ice bouncing around in glasses,then
like rapid fire of torpedoes
the table is barragedwith glasses of water.

I eat more bread, just continueeating
until the basket is empty,
then wait until thewaiter serves up a fresh new basket.

By the time mymeal comes,
sizzling hot and absolutely delicious,
mystomach is packed full with many slices of bread.
I'm fullto capacity. Still, I eat. I eat. Why do I eat?
Not becauseI'm hungry but because my mom makes me eat.
"Kids arestarving in God-knows-where," she says,
and I feelguilty and grateful and stuff my face even more.
All thisbecause of slow service
and delicious bread.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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