Esu, I thought, silently laughing to myself. So dirty. Everything sounds dirty backwards. I continued to munch rather ferociously on the burnt toast that lay before me, crumbs circling the outer edges of the plate, butter dripping quite steadily from my greasy breakfast fingers.

I continued to stare at the sign while i stabbed at what was left of my eggs over easy. I had been on the road for some time now, and every one of these greasy spoon roadside diners were all the same. They all had that damned hand-painted sign on the window: Please Use Front Door. Like they’re so worried I’m going to come in through the back door. To be honest, my coming in the back door might just be a favour to them.

The waitress came by and filled my coffee without asking. Her rather rotund behind making the seams of her cheeky yellow uniform scream.

“Hey,” I warned her.

“Scuse me?” she drawled lazily.

“That coffee was perfect. I had the right balance of cream, sugar and now you’ve twharted my perfect creation.”