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The Restaurant

I've forgotten how I got here. This place. This restaurant. Sometimes I imagine I was born here, in this tired town, I've been here so long. Though I know that's not true. I came by choice.
Everyday I sit in the same booth at the same table, in the back of the restaurant beside the kitchen. They greet me by name, these strangers. They shake my hand and pat my back. The ladies are beautiful and wink my direction. They never change, except when they do. When they disappear and are forgotten like the others; I have no idea where they go. Where could they go?
I sit at my table and order the usual, a coffee with milk, a beer. The waitress nods and leaves without saying a word. The music is familiar, playing on a loop. Light horn over a bright keyboard. Its comforting, I like it.
I always have money to pay. Whatever I want, as much as I desire, its always there. But I can never leave, because where would I go? I'll return and find myself in the same booth with the same drink. And the music plays as the waitress take orders, smiling and tilting her head. Familiar and safe. When I will die here alone, bury me in the restaurant.

-Ace Allen