The sharp knife of a short life.
 
The song reminded Shadrack of his father, every time he heard it. Despite his father's drinking, and general abuse when he was drunk, Shadrack missed him. He did not cry, or break down, but he felt pain in the pit of his stomach and looked back over at his mother for a moment. She was staring at him knowing, while the fat manager drone on and on about something.

Shadrack was painfully aware of the blonde to his left, and working on what to say to her. His philosophy was to hit on every attractive girl he saw. Sure, he usually got shot down, but occasionally he did not. He figured he had a ten percent chance, which was good enough for a try.

The jukebox fell silent for a moment, and a trucker limped over to it and took out a quarter. Soon Dolly Parton's dulcet tones filled the dinner.

If I should stay I would only be in your way.

Shadrack hated that song. In fact he hated most country music. He listened to old British rock bands, like the Who. Still, country music was a part of so many of the small towns they passed through that he had gotten used to it, to some extent.

Florence came by and refilled the coffee mug he had brought with him from the table. He put in three creamers and four sugars, before stirring it around. The coffee changed color as he did so. He took a long drink, and decided on his line of attack. The girl was eating the bloodiest steak he had ever seen. In general, he liked his steak rare, but not quite that rare. The wolf inside him did not like it if the steak was not a bit bloody.

"Hey, you take your steak the same way I do; with a fighting chance at recovery." He knew it was a lame line, as most of his were, but if she was at all interested it would not matter. He shrugged mentally. He was used to being shot down and did not care much if this was one of those times. There would be other pretty girls in this little town, though this one certainly was a knockout.