shu and joe

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a young waiter, no older than fifteen and with a smile of uneven teeth, plucking a patron’s fedora from the coat closet. He ran a palm down the dent of the hat and surreptitiously placed it on his head. Swallowing a shy laugh, he glanced at his now dapper reflection in the mirror. A starched white shirt lapsed into sun-bleached black pants and a pair of dust-caked running shoes. His face, now framed by a swathe of oversized felt, looked even younger than before and he pantomimed a quick solo waltz for the waitress. He caught her eye and mouthed “Someday, someday.”