By John Holland

I gave my heart to the waitress in the cafe. Placed it in the dish that said gratuities. Red and throbbing, it looked incongruous with the small change.
“Thank you,” she said, hearing the clink, but without looking.
When I called the next day, it was still in the dish.
She was busy with a skinny cappuccino. Timidly, I said, “I see there’s a heart in the gratuities.”
“Yes,” she said. “The tips are divided at the end of the week. We have sharp knives, and the chef has a steady hand.”
“Still, “I said, fishing for compliments, “what a lovely gesture from a generous customer.”
“But it will only sustain the six of us us for a few days each,” she said
Happily, I thought, I have many more where that came from.