Breezing by on charm

At dinner last night, we had a waiter who was abrupt, brisque, and had a tendency to sort of fling our plates at us.

He was also really funny. He had a sort of dry Italiano-goombah humor around him that was just kind of neat.

So instead of complaining about the service, we enjoyed the spectacle.

He had a distinctive scar on his neck, as if someone tried to cut him open at some point in his life.

We decided he was a retired mafia thug or something akin to that. The truth is probably less-interesting, but there you go.