She gets off work the other side of evening She counts her tips and tells me that she's leaving I scrape the plastic plates and dry the gla**es My apron is a testament to madness Years of washing dishes and she's gone Her boyfriend brags how many ways he's had her The busboys and the line cooks crack with laughter And I pretend I don't know what they're saying And they pretend our fate is not the same thing Years of washing dishes and we're gone