The Killers
by Ernest Hemingway
The door of Henry’s lunchroom opened and two men came in. They sat
down at the counter.
“What’s yours?” George asked them.
“I don’t know,” one of the men said. “What do you want to eat, Al?”
“I don’t know,” said Al. “I don’t know what I want to eat.”
Outside it was getting dark. The streetlight came on outside the window.
The two men at the counter read the menu. From the other end of the
counter Nick Adams watched them. He had been talking to George when
they came in.
“I’ll have a roast pork tenderloin with apple sauce and mashed potatoes,”
the first man said.
“It isn’t ready yet.”
“What the hell do you put it on the card for?”
“That’s the dinner,” George explained. “You can get that at six o’clock.”