I swear to god I almost just booked it last night. Dropped my tray of half-eaten pasta and just… walked. Out the back, past the dumpsters smelling like old grease and regret, and onto the street. The thought was so loud it was like someone shouting in my ear, even over the clatter of plates and that goddamn awful jazz playlist. Just go. Let them deal. It was one of those nights where every single table was a problem. Kids screaming like banshees, a dude sending back his steak three times for being too rare, then too well, then “not right.” The whole dining room was a buzzing, pulsing thing, like a massive angry wasp nest, and I was just trying to move through it without getting stung. My uniform felt too tight, scratchy, and the smell of garlic bread was suddenly a physical weight in my throat. I kept smiling, kept reciting the specials (the branzino with lemon butter, the braised short ribs, *blah blah blah*), but inside my head it was just static. A high-pitched whine that was getting louder and louder. One table, a group of college kids, kept waving me over for refills on their Cokes, every two minutes it felt like. Their laughter sounded so sharp, like broken glass. I could feel my hands shaking a little when I set down the glasses, cold sweat slick on the outside. My brain just kept saying *run*. *Run, run, run*. It was like every single sound, every clink of cutlery, every snippet of conversation, was being amplified directly into my skull. My eyes felt wide open, like I couldn’t blink, couldn’t shut anything out. Just staring through it all, trying to pretend I wasn't about to lose it. Got home at 11, the smell of fried food still clinging to my hair and clothes like a shroud. Sat on the edge of the bed for a good half hour, just staring at the wall. The silence was almost as bad as the noise. My knees were aching from all the running around, and my feet felt like they were full of broken glass. I just kept thinking about that dude with the steak. And then the kids with the coke refills. All of them just… consuming. And me, just serving. My landlord called again today about the rent. He doesn’t shout, just has that quiet, disappointed voice that makes your stomach clench. Told him I’d have it by Friday, like always. Another double this weekend, I guess. Another trip to that buzzing wasp nest. (I wonder if I’ll ever actually just run). The thought still sits there, cold and heavy, right behind my ribs.