The waitress squared her shoulders and marched over. “Whatchuwant?” she asked.

He didn’t look up. Thick fingers anguished his thinning hair. “Just pie,” he said, head hung.

“Kind?”

“Pecan.”

Deafjerk didn’t even notice me, she thought, and spit—just a little—on her ex-husband’s slice before the dollop of cream.

Rachel Burns is a current student whose latest writing project is a chapbook collection of flash fiction and poetry.