Supper

The neon signs in the diner vibrated with a hum as he sat beneath them. His usual corner booth. Clock over the stove hung upside down and ran backwards. The waitress, same apron, sneakers, stale cigarette smell, and dove tattoo across her wrist came over. “What’ll it be?” He got a plate of fried chicken, biscuit on the side, local ale. She pocketed the paper menu and didn’t write anything down. It was the same order—She knew at the end of the meal he’d drop two twenties and tell her to keep the difference. He removed a cigarette and lit up, and he knew she wouldn’t complain.

No. 125

Exclusion

George grabbed a seat in the back row and laid his coat across the seat beside him. He had asked his friend, M., to join him. “Keeping my options open,” was all he said in response. George knew what that meant and decided to attend the film screening alone.

George arrived early, as per usual, and picked at a bucket of popcorn growing-cold. Other patrons entered the theater, took their seats, and the room filled up around him. He enjoyed the dull hum of a crowd and listened in on the conversations.

Close to showtime, George watched M. enter the theater with a pair of friends, whom George disliked. Laughing, they took seats across the room. George sunk low in the chair and pulled the coat over him. As the lights dimmed, he found solace in the darkness.

No. 109