“Yeah, sure,” he tells her. "Comin' right up," she says. She turns away from the meat and drops a basket of spuds in the fryolater. A quarter sm...le doesn’t play at the corner of her mouth while she dances with machines that don’t dance back. She sees him but doesn’t look, feels him and stands her linoleum ground, going about the calm work of her hips and hands, keeping mostly where he can see. Her body and uniform are constantly moving in opposite directions. It gets impossible to watch and. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans that were two sizes too small for him. A beer gut was trying to hide the John Deere belt buckle that was struggling to hold up his pants. His mouth seemed to be in a nasty snarl that went perfectly with his squinty eyes. She walked an obedient two steps behind him, although it seemed to be by choice rather than as a required position.I had no trouble at all figuring out that this was not a loving relationship. Of course it was none of my business and if I. More

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