Gravy Patterson's Arc

Chapter 1 of 11

Gravy slid the window of the food truck open and slapped a fresh tray of fries onto the warmer. The smell of hot grease filled the small space. Behind him, Preston muttered something about the gravy being too thin again. Gravy ignored it. He had a plan for this May 24 Weekend — a big fire, good people, and enough poutine to feed the whole crew. Derek and the guys from work were coming. Nobody was leaving early this time. He just had to get through the lunch rush without Preston starting another fight in front of the customers. The bright yellow truck rocked as Preston shoved past him. Pretzels and poutine smiled from the painted signs outside. Inside, the kitchen was too small for two grown men with opinions. Preston grabbed the gravy ladle out of Gravy's hand. "You're drowning it again," he snapped. A customer at the window leaned back, eyebrows raised. Gravy took the ladle back. Preston grabbed for it. The pretzel plate between them tipped. Cheese curds skidded. A bottle of mustard and one of ketchup hit the counter and burst, splashing red and yellow across the serving window and down onto the pavement. The customer jumped clear. A small line of people stared at the mess. Gravy wiped his hands on his apron and looked Preston dead in the eye. "We're done. Truck's closed for the day." He flipped the window shut on the waiting line. Preston started to argue, then stopped. Outside, the lunch crowd drifted away. Inside, the silence said something had finally broken between them.