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Page 113
But there was something about this one. . . . Mike hesitated outside as he recognized the problem. Paper plates and cups strewed the ground outside, and nearly half the homey tables inside were covered with trays and trash.
Abby helped him pick up the worst of the litter and deposit it into a nearly overflowing trash can, then followed him inside as he approached the counter. There was a paper napkin dispenser beside the cash register yawning open and empty, and Mike scowled as he asked for the restaurant's manager.
In a moment, a corpulent middle-aged man in a pink shirt hustled from deep inside the kitchen, a broad smile revealing a set of large, uneven teeth.
"Jose!" Mike stepped forward, pumping the man's damp hand. He was delighted to see a familiar facealbeit with deeper creases at the forehead and mouth than Mike remembered. But he hadn't visited here for months.
Jose had been his first independent manager. Like Lowell, he had gone through many of Arlen's Kitchens' growing pains with Mike. He was loyal and, always before, had been conscientious. "Good to see you, Michael," Jose said, sincerity lowering the normal tenor tone of his voice. "In fact, I can't begin to tell you how good it is that you're back." He paused. "You are back, aren't you?"
Mike hesitated for only a moment. "Yes. But, Jose, what's going on?" Gently he pointed out the dirty tables and missing napkins.

 
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