Everything was named for something it used to be, something it no longer was. This was supposed to be ironic or funny; on a good night, Kyle could spin it as both. Clad in requisite waitperson black, wrapped waist-to-ankle in his spotless bistro apron, he knew he had talent. To be good-looking! To be self-deprecating! To know when to engage in conversation and when to stand back from a table with arms clasped behind his back in the professional waiter’s attentive stance! All these things took skill, even if it was a skill three-fourths of the world preferred not to notice.
…from “The Latch,” Summer 2014, Michigan Quarterly Review.