/lit/ - Literature

welp

I had to write a paper for a creative writing class. I'm a senior in highschool. I request that you shit on this as much as possible.

In a pub of my home town is a long bar with chairs; in a room further back tables, and booth seats. A heavy scent of meat and beer fogs the air; the fatty hiss of cooking burgers, the ferocious bubble of hot oil for frying, and the constant clanking of porcelain plates creates a unique kitchen clamor. The new and old come in and out. They laugh loudly, smile constantly, keep their hands on the table, eyes on their companions; they sulk with necks craned to the side, cheeks red from recent tears.
Beginning a few months ago as a bus boy, I fumbled around, slowly setting tables with silverware; an uncultured animal, walking with awkward half steps, addressing co-workers with thick, uncertain speech. The hostess, Sicillia, a plump woman with dark brown hair would rush me "Ya'godda be fasta Tom". She would bring the customers to their tables as I still set it with slippery, fidgeting fingers, nervous and guilty for having them wait another moment.