Chapter Text
*from dreams perspective btw :)*
Driving in the Floridian rain was no easy task, especially when it was dark. I’d gotten used to it, sure, but it wasn’t fun. The darkness of the night disguised all the slippery parts of the road. It wasn’t raining that hard, either. A soft drizzle, which wasn’t uncommon on the Florida beaches at night. I glanced at the small clock in my car, 11:45. God damn. I wasn’t tired in the slightest. Maybe it was because I didn’t wake up until 2 o’clock, or maybe it’s because I haven’t done much all day.
Up ahead, I see the small glow of a neon-lit sign in the distance. It was one of those classic red and blue OPEN signs you’d see on a small business. As I get closer, I hear my stomach grumble. I replay my day in my head and realize my stomach had a reason to be so upset, I hadn’t eaten all day. I observe this neon sign, seeing it belongs to a small diner. Perfect.
Pulling into the small parking lot, I noticed the uniqueness of this little diner. It’s constructed out of a few silver train cars. Not like the boring cargo ones you’d see on a modern train, but one you’d see straight out of the ’50s. That idea continued when I saw the sign, Lucky Lucy’s Old Time Diner. Stepping into the dinner was an experience, for sure. I was hit with lots of retro photos, some of Elvis, some of old Hollywood actors.
“Uh, hi. Welcome to Lucky Lucy’s,” A small girl, assumingly a hostess, cheered. I managed to stifle a smile despite my sudden hunger. She returned the favor, smiling and collecting a menu. “One for tonight?”
I nodded, “Yeah, just one.”
The tiny girl led me to my table. It was a small booth near a window. I sat down, tossing my jacket on the booth. Looking around, I noticed there was only one other patron in the place. He was sitting on the farthest barstool from the door. He had a severe slouch and unmanaged scruff. He was reading a large newspaper, and would occasionally make noise in reaction to some news article. Turning to the window, I noticed a large photo of a young woman, quite lanky, with a smile on her face. The smile she wore was confident and big. She was holding a key. I looked down, reading the etching on the frame Lucy: Opening Day 1987.
“Isn’t she pretty?” A girl standing above me at the edge of the table sighed. I turned to her, observing her smile. She was looking at the photo too, in almost a nostalgic way.
I chuckled, “Yeah. She is. Seems like she’s cool. She still work here?”
The girl grimaced, “Yeah, she did.” She looked at the picture again, her previous grin turning more into a sad smile. She looked back at me, “I’m your waitress by the way. Sorry for taking forever, you can clearly tell it’s busy,” The girl motioned to the rest of the diner, chuckling at herself. I laughed with her.
“Oh yeah, I totally understand. Concert must’ve just gotten out,”
She rolled her eyes, “Does your wiseass know what it wants to drink?” I’m taken aback for a moment at her...forwardness? I glance at her for a moment, taking her features in. She’s pretty. The waitress resembles the namesake of the restaurant, her smile confident and large. It’s a gorgeous smile.
I think she took my accidental starting as an angry or upset reaction. She muttered a sorry and prepped her book for my reply.
“You guys got any hot coffee?” I reply with a grin. I wanted to show I wasn’t upset, but I chose a way that could be taken like, well, anything. The girl nods, turning around to go into the back. When she walks away, this mysterious aura leaves with her. When she was near, it just felt like comfort. I stare back at the picture of Lucy for a moment. The two girls look similar. Their face shape is obvious. The light and fire in their eyes appear in both women. I continue to look around, seeing a few framed golden records and clippings from important news of the time.
The facade of the restaurant felt nostalgic. The music softly playing in the background contributed to the soft feeling of the diner. That hostess and the pretty waitress seemed to be the only two staff members in the building, There obviously had to be a cook, of course, but the presence of these two girls made the feeling of the diner even softer. Every now and then, one would pass the other and offer a happy glance. Seems sweet, this little place in the middle of nowhere.
My thoughts are interrupted by the placement of a ceramic coffee cup. The same logo on the sign I saw was on the cup.
“What’s a guy like you doing at a place like here getting a cup of hot coffee at,” The girl flips her wrist, checking her watch, “12:08 am?” The girl asks curiously. She squats down, placing her hand underneath her chin to support her head. She stares at me jokingly, raising one eyebrow.
I laugh, her curiosity is amusing. “I got work,” I shrug.
“And what’s your work?” She continues, her eyebrow still raised.
I take a sip of my coffee. Chuckling, I raise an eyebrow to mock the girl. “Video editing. Keeps me up, stuff is hard sometimes,”
She gasps, bouncing up from her squatted position, “What type of videos?”
I freeze. There is no way I’m telling a pretty waitress that works at a themed 24-hour diner that I make Minecraft videos. Better yet, I’m not going to tell her who I am. Making Minecraft videos is one thing, being a POPULAR Minecraft creator is enough. Usually, I’d be proud of my accomplishments, but come on.
“It’s porn isn’t it.” She says.
I spit out my coffee, striking the attention of the man on the barstool. “WHAT????” I wheeze, wide-eyed.
“It’s definitely porn.”
“No, it isn’t what the hell?”
She smirks, “ Oh so it’s the kinky shit. Explains why you’re too embarrassed to tell me. I wouldn’t wanna tell my waitress I edited wack ass porn.”
I stare at the girl, gaping at her boldness. I cannot believe that’s what she gathered. She stares back at me, her eyes showing fire and her amusement. Our staring is broken when I hear a snap from behind the girl. It’s the barstool guy.
“Hey sweetheart,” The man says with a booming voice, “Pour me another cup. Trying to get your pretty ass over here to talk to your favorite regular, not skinny boy.”
She rolls her eyes and looks at me. A regular? Who in their right mind would treat someone who works in their favorite diner like that. “One sec, Richard, I’ll be right there.”
Richard? Dick. Ha.
“I don’t get paid enough for this,” She groans, sliding her hands dramatically down her face. I shoot her an apologetic smile while she walks away, approaching this Richard guy. She grabs the handle of a coffee pot and sluggishly. He says something to her, which makes her cringe. He laughs, almost falling off the stool. She participates in his small talk, before pouring more coffee. He says something else, to which she bids him goodbye.
I take a sip of my coffee, it’s dark and bitter and I don’t like it. However, I’m not gonna bother the girl, she’s clearly getting bothered enough. She approaches me again, rolling her eyes and mouthing something like I hate men and I chuckle.
She returns back to the edge of my small window-side booth, opening her small book again.
“Whatcha gonna eat, porn boy?” The waitress whips out a pen.
I cringe at the nickname, “Pancakes sound pretty good, sweetheart.”
She stares daggers at me.
“Yeah, I regretted it the second I said it,” I sigh, “Forget why I’m here. Why is he? He’s reading a two-week-old paper at midnight in some random diner. Even if I were a porn editor, he’s creepier.”
She nods, writing in her book, “I’m his favorite. I work the night shifts, it is creepy. Basically adjusted his whole sleep schedule to stare at my ass or something. I consider him a secret admirer without the secret, and his admiration is harassment,”
I agree with her, “How much do you get paid?”
“Okay porn boy, that’s one question you never ask,” She laughs. Her face shows that she’s thinking, and I can basically see the gears turning in her head, “Not enough to deal with him. On a shift like right now, 10-7, I make probably 40 bucks. Just tips, probably about $50 when my check comes around,”
“How many guests come in during night shifts?”
She sighs, “We hit the world record when you walked in.”
I feel my eyes widen, “Yeah, definitely not enough,”
The girl leaves at the end of the conversation. She disappears into the back once again. After a moment or two, I hear shouting. I pick up her yelling Andrew following a frustrated groan. Andrew must be the cook.
My pancakes come eventually, and so does the lovely waitress that he seems to be entertaining. She places the plate in front of me, with some syrup and butter to follow. I glance up at her, and she’s smiling down at me. That smile.
“Uh, thank you,” I say, trying to recall her name, “I don’t think I caught your name,”
Her smile never faltered as she pointed to the nametag sitting on her uniform. You’d never even realized she was wearing a uniform. A black shirt with the familiar logo and yoga pants, just looked like comfy clothes you’d want to wear on a day off. Her pants had a hole on the knee, and a tear on the leg on the right. They were more grey than black, obviously worn out. My eyes make it back to her nametag, actually reading it this time.
“Pretty,” I add on.
The look in her eyes, it changes. It went from a kind of happy look to a grateful stare. She continued looking at me, eventually raising an eyebrow. I realize like an idiot what she’s trying to do.
“Clay,” I say.
“Clay,” She repeats, nodding and walking off.
The rest of my dinner felt lonely. I strangely missed the presence of my new friend. She was funny, and pretty and kind, and easy to talk to, and pretty. She was pretty. The silence of her absence was obvious in the diner. Richard would grumble about some politics here and there. Some clanging of pots and pans could be heard from the kitchen. I’d break the silence occasionally, laying my knife after cutting into one of the divine pancakes Andrew, or whatever the chef’s name was, made me.
She’d return every now and then, checking up on the meal and making some sly comment about my job. Once she took away my plate, I checked the time again. 1:12 my phone read. I checked my notifications, now noticing a few pings on Discord.
George
VC?
12:49 am
I shrug, too late now. Even if I read it on time, I wouldn’t join. I don’t mind the quiet or the loud, but I hate breaking silence by talking to someone on the phone. Richard would hear me. The hostess would hear me. The waitress would hear me. I sigh. I need to go to bed.
When the familiar face of the waitress returns, she hands me the check. It was like $11, no big deal. I scribble on the receipt and leave, not thinking of much.
On the drive home, I reflect on my evening. The only genuine human interaction I’ve had today was with a pretty girl at midnight, and she thought I did porn. Porn. I’m embarrassed by the note I left on my check now that I’m gone. She probably wouldn’t even remember what I was talking about. I still snapped a picture of it though. I wanted to send it to the boys and brag about my new friend. I open discord once I get home, sending the picture.
Tip: $41.69
Buy some new yoga pants with your salary for the night. -Pornboy.
The image was met with questions. Who’s pornboy? Yoga pants? PORN?
He chuckled, feeling the satisfaction that only he knew what the hell that note meant.