John Cheever

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Fiction: Let’s Get Out of the Restaurant
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No Shoes, No Shirt, No Fiction: Let’s Get Out of the Restaurant

  “I need to tell you something,” he said. He twirled his spaghetti around his fork. She sipped her wine. “What is it?” “Well.” He shoved the tangle of spaghetti in his mouth and chewed. She fiddled with her spoon. Suddenly, the waitress appeared. She had a grease stain on her apron. Her nametag read…