What is today again? 

Monday or Sunday, maybe something in between. Time doesn't matter anyway. It never has, not in my purgatory, though I am still not conscience of what EXACTLY I did. I have a general idea though.

I've never left. I have never had reason to. Why should I? 3 square meals a day, served with a...well, it doesn't really qualify as a smile. It never reaches his lips, the poppy red slivers of skin never curve up. But his eyes, they grin, the irises of them a lovely hue of green. He sets my plate down gently, all one fluid movement, unlike the heavy thud I hear from every other waiter. And one day, as the door shuts behind him, I watch him, and for hardly a second, I watch him wink at me, teeth flashing at me. But as he leaves, I know it wasn't real. The knowing looks from the girl waitresses, the apologizes in all their eyes, it's all a lie, one I've cleverly deduced myself into believing.