The restaurant bustled with activity, curiously calm; the dinner rush had largely come in by now, and as such its atmosphere was both mellow and lively at the same time. Though outside it wasn't dark yet, the interior of the restaurant felt as cozy and warm as if it were. A hushed chatter pervaded the main room, drowning out and mixing in with the clatter of plates and knives and a dull, elegant music that played softly in the background. From the kitchen wafted the scent of food, savory, sweet, and hot, to be met with the brisk chill of the evening air wherever a later-arriving patron swung open the finely polished glass door. For many, it would be a place to relax and laugh over a glass of wine, but Moe was having none of it.

His head throbbed as he walked through the aisle, the combined effects of sleep deprivation and nicotine withdrawal hitting him harder than usual. "How's everything tasting?" Moe asked the inhabitants of one booth as he passed by, plastering his best smile on his face. Normally he'd be more genuine, but given the circumstances he wasn't exactly in the best mood. A general murmur resounded from the table, accompanied by concurrent nods and rapid swallowing. "Anything I can help you with?" he asked, gazing nervously around the table.

"We're good, thanks," came the response from somebody at the table, and with a mindless nod and grin Moe walked quickly away from the table. He hoped they would still tip.

Moe rushed down the aisle, walking determinedly towards the entrance. A few people turned curiously to look at him, but he didn't really care. He glanced apprehensively at a coworker, who looked back at Moe somewhat exasperatedly. Moe had acquired somewhat of a negative reputation among his fellow waitstaff for frequent smoke breaks, but [i]technically[/i] restaurant policy allowed him to take breaks as often as he did, and things seemed to be [i]relatively[/i] slow, so it wouldn't [i]really[/i] hurt anyone...

Some moments later he reached the door. Moe looked back at the host, who apparently didn't notice him leaving, or didn't seem to care. Shrugging this off and assuming they would know where he'd gone, Moe opened the glass door, and looked outside onto the street as cars and people rushed past in unison, engines and voices alike resounding past him.

His restaurant was located facing forwards onto the street; it was one of the classier establishments on the block. The only other one that Moe knew was a bar some buildings away, but he couldn't afford to get drunk now; he had a decent job and he needed the money. He'd moved to Clear Springs half a year ago to be closer to his sister, who relatively nearby in Salt Lake City, and had gotten the job some months ago. Evenings like these were the worst for him, but he had to keep working, until someday he could do better than he was.

The chill of the fall setting stood in clear contrast with the warmth of the restaurant, but it was a nice break from all that chaos. Lighting up a cigarette, Moe walked down the street. [i]Twenty minutes,[/i] he reminded himself, and rapidly pulled out his phone to check the time. The familiar smell of smoke surrounded him, and Moe strolled down the street calmly as night approached.