Noir: Practice Makes Permanent

The kitchen was abuzz. A well-oiled machine which produced exceptional fare. White cloaked chefs chattered about orders, acrobatic servers floated around the cramped prep areas and I froze right inside the door.

_Collect yourself Vincenzo!_

_Your staff is watching your every move._ Were they?

I coughed and straightened my posture. I wheeled about and reviewed the kitchen as I did often during the dinner hour. _Back to routine._

I inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled. _There we go._

She was devastating. Was it that woman I called bitch? What is the old saying? You don't know what you have until it's gone - _into another man's arms..._

I had not really ever looked back in my life. I did not fret about big decisions. If I made them, I lived with them. No regrets. My deal with Mr. D. was one of those things. He was the problem tonight, not her.

Let her do what she wants to that fool sitting with her. I would like to know who the hell he is though, just to complete the picture.