At the diner just outside of town, our clothes reek of Febreze and leaded gas. The waitress arrives at our table with a big jug of coffee in her hand. She fills our cups halfway and hands over the menu cards that look like guns in the harsh fluorescent lights. Both Rob and I lean over the table to check what’s on the menu: Graham crackers, Hickory Sticks, Walnettos, you name it. It, it, it. The Great American Food, the waitress quips after a while, putting on her best smile. Pick your poison. I stare at her teeth the whole time, which look faintly butterscotch in the liminal gray of dawn. I want to suck them dry, pick the gums apart. Marco, Rob says all of a sudden, extending the menu card back to the waitress. What? the waitress says, shifting her gaze to me for an explanation. I mistake her attention on me for lust, feeling something close to want on the tip of my tongue. Polo, I want to say back, but instead what slips out of my mouth is: I’ll have some Snapples, please. Sissy sista snapples, please. Snap snap apples, please. The snappity snip waitress snaps the menu cards from us and heads back toward the counter. Her gait resembles that of a drug dealer, ungainly and hurried. She pretends to fill in our orders at the counter but in truth she’s busy whispering something to her manager who turns to steal in our direction a snippety snap glance. He’s a big black boy, a big brown boy, a boy boy boy who looks like a biggidy big brown toy, a bodily boy with boyish blues. As he pats on the waitress’ back and starts to walk toward our table, Rob and I flip-flap our bloodshot eyes, hip-hop our coffees in one big gulp, kick-flip our ol’ gator guns, bang-bang-bang our way out of the front door, then blitzkrieg our baby-blue Buick far far far from the parking lot. We slushy our wheels toward the aurora borealis of America.

Sarp Sozdinler

is a writer of Turkish descent whose work has been published in American Literary Review, DIAGRAM, Electric Literature, HAD, HOBART, The Kenyon Review, The Masters Review, Maudlin House, The Normal School, and Vestal Review, among other places. His stories have been selected or nominated for anthologies (Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, Wigleaf Top 50) and awarded a finalist status at various literary contests, including the 2022 Los Angeles Review Flash Fiction Award. He’s currently at work on his first novel in Philadelphia and Amsterdam.

Author’s website: https://sarpsozdinler.com