I was separating chicken breasts with Brown late in the evening, about this same time, years back. A customer walked up to the case. “Want me to help him, or you got it?” I asked.
“What?” His eyebrows were up to his hairline. He snickered. “This late? Fuck em, help me finish this shit. They can wait a couple minutes.”
Eventually, the guy just walked away. “Lost one.” I said.
“He was looking at the pre-made shit, wasn’t gonna buy a T-bone. Fuck ’em.”