Chapter 33

Ahead the line disappeared around the corner into the serving area. As Stacy followed, he could smell the familiar stench of the high school cafeteria, a conglomerate of cooked cabbage and dingy dishwater, burnt bread, spaghetti sauce, sweat. Behind the serving counter a large fan blew over the staff—Stacy would’ve sworn the matronly women dressed in white smocks and plastic caps were the same hairnetted women who used to serve him lunch so many years ago. There were two of them but to Stacy they looked the same, wielding large stainless steel spoons in their hands to scoop up whatever it was he wanted to eat.

At one end of the counter were stacks of trays and silverware, spoons and forks and blunt butter knives. Stacy fought back a grimace as he lifted the top tray, the plastic slimy and wet. Just washed, he was sure they’d say if he asked, but he had his doubts. He threw his silverware onto the tray and tried not to touch it as he pushed it along the counter.