She asks for more syrup.
The waitress points to the packaged kind on the plate.
Yolanda says I want the real thing.
The waitress shakes her head and Yolanda squeezes syrup over her
pancakes. She watches the butter melt,
turn from a solid block
to a shapeless thing that gives up and blends in.
The waitress turns on the TV,
where the same clip of Selena in a gurney
flashes across the screen.
The waitress has her hand on her hip. She squints.
Yolanda waits for her name to appear, her picture.
It doesn’t.
The waitress folds napkins into the silverware.
She hums something unnamable to herself.
Yolanda shakes her head.
She cuts them into little triangles.
She takes a bite.