The Diner
The intoxicating scent of waffles and coffee hits you square in the face; you practically drift on the air towards the diner. Comfort seems to permeate the very air here, as if the weather itself is getting hungry. You can feel the scent pouring from behind its doors and windows, a sticky, sweet fog rolling around your feet.
You approach the sleek, silver diner, admiring it’s rivets and smooth metal lines. Nary a single sharp edge in sight, this place is all 50s glamour. You press your nose against the window, your hands splayed against the glass…
Inside, the red and white diner seats and tables pop and fizz, like the very sodas dispensed. The slight but inviting menu beams at you from backlit photos. The waitress glides over the sweet fog on rollerskates.
Scanning the interior, your eyes fix on one particular couple. You watch their hands dart from food, to drink, to each other, intoxicated on whatever they touch. Their eyes excitedly dance around the room and forever land on each other, as if the universe itself has melted away. You watch them draw exclamations of love in the inside each others hands, and see them nervously giggle between mouthfuls of fries.
Life feels like it’s forever chasing moments like these, and you feel destined to step inside…
Head back to the edge of the square