The air was heavy with the grease of the hambuger's predecessors.
Maybe it would have been naive to expect something else-a place in a 4 star restaurant with mesclun, rye bread and some fancy cheddar, or at least a more sophisticated diner with proper salad boasting no pesticides. For all his education at Patty University, the Hambuger just knew he wasn't organic.
But still-he couldn't help but feel listless, eyeing the check-shirted, baseball-hatted, overweight crowd that composed most of the patrons of the diner.
And then there was--her. There she was again, brandishing a long metal implement. She procedeed to flip him, uncerimoniously on the grill. That was good, because one of his sides was becoming carbonized, but couldn't she be a bit more delicate about it? No matter how adamant you are about not being a professional flipper?
It was difficult to judge the looks of someone who might eat you but the Hamburger supposed that she was, for human standards, attractive. Shame for the angry glare in her lovely blue-green eyes. And then there was the talking. She was at it, again. She flipped him once more, muttering: "I'm only in this to pay for college. One more summer and then it's over. I'm leaving this dump for good, capisce?"
The Hamburger understood indeed, Patty University had been important to him. But she didn't actually expect an answer now, did she?