The Evening Restaurant

The evening restaurant on Apollo Street opened only in the dark. Its light blue walls, outside the restaurant, matched the azure skies that overlooked it. The menu contained two meals: Fried Golden Fish, Vegetable Salad and No Drink.

Mr. Pig owned the restaurant. His father, Mr. Horse, bequeathed it to him. Mr. Pig has two employees: Mrs. Chicken and Mr. Porcupine. Mr. Pig took orders and served dishes; Mrs. Chicken made vegetables while Mr. Porcupine fried the golden fish. The evening restaurant used to open twenty-four hours, seven days of the week and three hundred and sixty-five days of the year during Mr. Horse's time but Mr. Pig always believed that evening meals were the most important, that any food eaten in dark was the sweetest and it must be vegetable salad plus golden fish with no drink.

The clean sea by the evening restaurant brought in yellow airs and green noises from far lands. He saw the air enter, heard it rearranging plates and spoons, witnessed it dancing around the three thousand square feet space and felt it gently tapping his chubby cheeks. It lifted the red table clothes, moved the napkins and went out through an open window near the toilets. He prayed for the hundredth time that nature threw in his first customer. 

            After three seven seasons of bright rain, dusty sun and heavy harmattan, the first customer, since Mr. Horse galloped to the other side,  stumbled into the evening restaurant. The customer wore a white tuxedo suit, an orange bow tie, white shirt and a dark pair of Ray Ban shades. He found his way to the first seat and placed himself on it.

            A fresh stream ran across Mr. Pig’s heart. His wide smile revealed his golden teeth; he cracked his fingers and watched his expensive looking customer. He sniffed in the perfume of the customer and noticed as the man looked around his beautifully arranged restaurant.

            “Welcome,” Mr. Pig spoke with excitement, “to the best restaurant in the world where we serve the most important meal of the day.”

            “Can I see your menu?” asked the customer.

            Mr. Pig rushed to the customer’s table and pushed the menu closer to the man’s right hand. He studied as the man tried to feel the words on the paper.

            “What do you serve, Mr.?”

            “The menu is right in front of you.”

            “I see.”

            “You’re not blind, are you?” Mr. Pig queried.

            “Yes, I am.”

            “My first customer can’t be blind! How would he appreciate us? Get up, Mr! Time for you to leave!

            Mr. Pig grabbed the customer by the hand, pulled him up and pushed him out of his restaurant.

            “Not for the blind!”

            Mr. Pig cleaned the table and chair where the blind once sat then resumed his wait for the next customer.