In a Perfect World
Of course I immediately noticed his scars. Anyone who claimed otherwise would be lying. And of course I did my best to pretend I didn’t notice them, just as any decent person would have. I was behind the counter of Mildred’s Restaurant, where I’d worked for the past six months, when the little bell above the door chimed and he stepped inside. It was just before three on a Friday afternoon. The lunch crowd was long gone, and those wanting an early dinner hadn’t begun to trickle in yet. I had...