(The Assassin's Bamboo Brush) An End and a Beginning

"More wine here!"
"Why is the third dish taking so long?"
"I ordered something awhile ago..."
"Did you not see us waiting at the door?"
"This bowl is not clean!"
"Why is there only so little rice in this serving?"

Two waiters deftly sidestepped, ducked, pirouetted and answered politely, each holding three or four dishes of various sorts on every available space on their arms. Each counted down to the minute of their liberation, which also happened to be when they would get what they were working so hard for.

Squinting hard in the candle light, the owner of the restaurant reread the two letters on his desk. One of them was brief, and to the point, written in neat script. The other was in a rather more "artistic" and pretty near unreadable hand, but full of literary devices; probably rewritten several times. Yet in essence, they were both exactly the same - letters of resignation.

At the end of their nine hour shift, the two waiters' food conveying dance slowed then stopped as the last of the customers left, whether of their own will or not.
"Are you sure you both want to leave today?"
"Yes, that's right."
"But I thought you liked your jobs, and were satisfied with your pay?"
"True, but we got bored."
"Bored? This is the real world, young man! It is time to come out of childhood with the realisation that money is difficult to come by! You do what you have to earn your next meal! It doesn't grow on trees, or fall in your lap!"

After several attempts to retain his two staff, the restaurant owner finally gave in and handed them each a small pouch of copper pieces.
"It's been great having you two here. These are your wages for this month, with a little extra for the new year. Spend wisely young ones! If you change your mind, I am always in need of quality staff."

The two youngsters grinned and stepped out of the restaurant, waving and clutching their bags. Hopping over the limp forms of extradiated clientele in varying degrees of intoxication, they made for the read to the sea- side.
"What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going home to pack my things first. It's still a little early."
"Alright, then I'll meet up with the others first."
The (considerably) taller waiter glanced at the huge, glowing moon, then parted from his old friend at the crossroads.
"Remember," he shouted, "no weapons!" He waved as he strode on his way, and was gone.