DirectionersFBI

I come into work tomorrow and find the place decorated by the grand chicken himself, who stands there with greased-up hair and a wacky grin. "This is our moment!" Says Bok as I suit up in my chicken hat and bright yellow apron. "Yes. Sir!" A reporter-looking person comes in with a camera, and marches straight down the diner to the counter, where Bok has stationed himself, in prime commercial-viewing position. "Hello, Mr Bok?" Says the reporter, snapping a quick photo. Bok looks away from the screen dreamily. "Yeah? Whadaya want?" The reporter brandishes a photograph  from her leather messenger bag. "I'm looking for this girl." Bok seems t

I'm at work the next day, trying not to puke over the scent of heavily processed chicken, and the feeling of almost-guilt in my stomach, in the very pit. The tv is turned on to the news, and it's all over the news: Harry Style's new 'squeeze'. Erroneous. No squeezing, kissing, or underwear modeling took place. I make sure to wear sunglasses to work, and my ponytail tucked up into my chicken cap. Ben sees me looking up at the tv screen. He gives a family of six their orders. It's like he grows six more hands, and still manages to talk to me. He's your typical example of 'nice guys finish last' syndrome. "Wouldn't get too hung up over that on

I wake up with what I call a 'noodle hangover'. It's basically when you wake up craving noodles. It took me ages to figure out that in normal society noodles aren't classed as a real breakfast course. They should be. Trust me. Reece has the same issue, and so we enjoy a morning noodle gorging. If that's the right word. They give you horrible bad breath, but I'm not seeing anybody I want to make a good impression on today, and Reece isn't bothered about what 'anybody in ‘ell' thinks about her. One of the many reasons to love my best friend. It's my day off, and I've got nothing to do. Harry hasn't called this morning, but he already ca