Check engine

When I lived in NYC, and worked on Madison Avenue, I got lunch everyday from a little espresso bar, called funny enough, Espresso Madison. It was a tiny little space. It had a bar, that you could get a cappucinno, or an espresso, or a glass of wine. No tables. I mean tiny. The size of my kitchen. The woman who owned it was named Renee. She was an awful bitch. I mean terribly snotty. I loathed her. She saw right through my fancy clothes, and manicured nails. She knew I was not from money. I was just among people who had money. I was not a member of the club. She knew it, and I knew she knew it, yet I tried very hard to be just as harsh to her, as she was to me.
Everyday, I would call the cafe, and order my lunch. A panini made from artichoke hearts, and melted pecorino romano cheese. It was the most wonderful little bit of heaven you could ever have. Other days, I would order the roast beef. It was red, and juicy, on a crusty loaf of bread, with horseradish, and cornichons. It was spicy, and oh so good. Along with these yummy morsels, I would also have an Aranciata, and a cappucinno. My lunch was $20.00 dollars, everyday, plus tip. I hang my head in shame thinking about that terrible waste of money.Even worse, it sent that awful Renee laughing, all the way to the bank.
Today, I had a ham sandwhich. Deli meat purchased from the supermarket. I accompanied it with a glass of water. I was fearful of going out in our car today, as the engine light is on, and it is, yet one more expense, we cannot handle. The glowing orange picture of a car engine makes me so stressed, and I keep taking my eyes off the road to stare at the light, willing it to shut off.
I wonder where that awful Renee is today. I would love to have one of her cappucinnos, right this very moment.