Ill Foreboding

"Marnthe!" a middle-aged man called out as he walked into the restaurant with a group of people behind him.

"Uncle Omar!" Marnthe greeted back, his hands carrying two trays of food for a table. "Please, come in. I'll be with you in a minute." He quickly served the food and made a beeline to Omar and his friends. "How many are you today?"

Geale watched Marnthe smile at them as if he hadn't been running around in the tropical heat for more than two hours. He warmly welcomed every customer who walked into the restaurant; greeting many of them by name.

A bell rang from the serving hatch, a small window connecting the kitchen and the bar counter.

Geale rushed to the window where a tray of freshly prepared food sat ready to be served. He picked it up and made his way to one of the tables assigned to him where a group of young adults in work uniforms were chatting happily.