“You put vegetables on my omelet.” Lavon says holding out her plate into the aisle. Lester comes back.

“What did you want; you said you wanted an omelet?” They had teased each other, playing off it, flirting. Perhaps they knew each other from the trip out, perhaps this was just their natural and automatic rapport.


“Nothing, I just want a plain omelet,” she said. “I don’t want vegetables”

“What nothing? You don’t want no cheese?” Lester said.

“No,” she said. “just an omelet.”

“And no vegetables?”

“No. just plain. I’m monna tell that cook he better get it right.”

“Honey that’s called scrambled eggs,” Lester said. “You just want scrambled eggs.”

“I want an omelet,” she insisted. “Just like this, but with no vegetables.”

“And no cheese.”

“No cheese,” she insisted with distaste.

“Honey’ that’s scrambled eggs.” He spoke slow and calm like he’d had the same conversation over and over with her or some other passenger just like her a hundred times before. He was 60 something, black and had the kind of accent that was half cultural, half regional, and half a result of the circumstance between the two.

“We gonna fall outta love,” she said as he moved away. “We falling outta love!”

“Honey,” lester said, back at the table without a sound. “You was riding a scooter, I was doing this.”