The stockroom isn't a room at all but a hallway behind the grill with shelves on each side rising to the ceiling. As he waits, surrounded by identical drumlike cans of Sysco pickles and sliced mushrooms, plastic five-gallon jars of ketchup and honey mustard and cocktail sauce, Manny hears Ty riding Fredo ("That's not where that goes. Move out of the way"), the transformerlike hum of the ice maker and the cyclic rinsing of the dishwasher. She kissed him here a dozen different times, mashed into him against his half-joking protests that they'd get caught. Some of the dustier cans probably witnessed them -- the maraschino cherries and baby corn, maybe. It seems wrong that even these perishables have outlasted what he thought was eternal -- still thinks, really -- but there they are, solid evidence. The glasses too, even though they were supposed to be a limited offer. What isn't? He needs to remember that with Deena.
Last Night at the Lobster receives:
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