by Ian Lamberto

Created on: July 15, 2009

Half Empty

"Morning, Billy," said Jim, as he came through the door of the diner.

"Morning," I replied, folding up the newspaper I had been reading. "How's it going?"

He took the seat across from me. His red hair was almost golden in the refracted light of the dingy, front window. "Fine, fine, you know, can't complain."

"Uh huh," I fingered the handle of my coffee cup. "You want anything?"

"No, that's okay, just came to show you this," he reached into a banged up valise, and retrieved a thick manila envelope.

"What you got there?"

"See for yourself," he handed me the folder, a wide grin across his face. "Cost a pretty penny, but it was definitely worth it."

"What did-" my tongue stopped the second my eyes settled on five eight-by-ten, black and white, glossy photos of Jim posing in various stances and expressions, which ranged from serious to crazy to mournful.

"Aren't they great?"

"Sure, um, yeah . . . ," I trailed off, too involved with containing the laughter that was building inside my throat.

"Flip 'em over."

On the back of each picture was a list of my friend's previous roles, including such classics as Corpse #11, Cadaver #33, and, of course, the ever memorable, Dead Guy #51.

"Your resume reads like a horror story on the evening news," I commented, passing him back the photos. "Are these meant to represent your characters before they died?"

He rubbed his knuckles on his jacket's lapel. "How unappreciated I am in my own time."

"Right," I sipped on my coffee. "Don't you have an audition today?"

"Yeah, it'll be my toughest role yet, a coma patient."

"You ever think of trying for a speaking role?"

"Everyone's always making a big deal over words. I prefer to operate in pure emotion."

"But your roles only have one emotion."

He chuckled sarcastically. "With the way the world's going, maybe I'm ahead of the curve."

I smiled, nodded. "Maybe you are, or maybe you just need to be more optimistic."

"Speaking of which, any word on the job front?"

"Found a nice gig downtown, selling shoes. It isn't much, but it's something."

"Good, that's good."

"It is," I checked my watch. "Actually, I should probably be getting there now, my shift starts soon."

"Yeah, I better run too," he returned the folder to the valise. "You take care, Billy."

"Same to you, Jim," I shook his hand, my eyes following his departure out the door, and around the corner. I waited a few seconds, then, opening the newspaper, I removed the classifieds page, and looked over the addresses I had circled, my eyes darting momentarily to an advertisement for discount shoes.

Sighing deeply, I added a packet of sugar to the coffee, watching, as the dark liquid gradually swallowed the small pile of crystals. For a minute I stared at that cup, at the thick, black pool it contained, for a minute my finger rested on the handle, teasing the plastic. But a minute later I was standing, a dollar falling from my hand, my feet carrying me determinedly out of the diner, the pages of newsprint tucked beneath my arm.

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