That Bird Has A Broken Wing

Betty Etzel's been waitressing nearly all her life, even raising a family.

Seventeen grandchildren spread like wildflowers around the globe. She's worked at this diner near a decade. Seen all manner of things, calling everyone honey, darling, like they're familiar faces, while astutely aloof.

Gentleman in a buttondown blue shirt, black slacks, penny loafers.
Contrastingly, grime under his fingernails.

With a young woman. Barely a wisp. Inhaling her food.
Wearing jeans. Scrap of a shirt. Carmine hair.
His daughter? Probably not.

Beneath her dirty surface, she's a real beauty.
Like a gold ring that's fallen in the mud. Still shines.