As I turn the final corner of my journey, my destination appears in front of me. I’ve headed to an old diner in the city to conduct the next in my series of interviews. I’ve never been to a diner before, but I’m told you can order anything. We’ll see.
It’s a terrible day, weather wise. Miserable and grey; windy and wet. The rain is coming down in sheets almost sideways. My tan coloured trenchcoat looks more of a dark brown as I reach the door to the restaurant. “Lovely day ain’t it?” quips a miserable looking waitress. “Yeah, lovely.” I shoot back.
She shows me to the table I had called to reserve the day before, but it turns out there was little point. Other than one man pushing a plate of what looks like pancakes, roast lamb and fish sticks around his plate, I am alone in the open planned room.
I take a seat in the corner booth, and order myself a pot of coffee and a slice of pie. As my subject hasn’t arrived, I take the liberty of ordering her some food, just to make her feel at home.
A few minutes later, the waitress returns with the coffee and a pair of empty cups. She fills one to the brim, leaving almost no room for milk, and heads back to her station. I try to pour a little milk into the top of my cup, but end up overflowing and spilling onto the table. I bring my lips to the cup and sip away a little of the liquid, and simultaneously pat at the puddle on the table with a napkin.
As I look up from the mess I made, a shadow appears across the table.
It’s a terrible day, weather wise. Miserable and grey; windy and wet. The rain is coming down in sheets almost sideways. My tan coloured trenchcoat looks more of a dark brown as I reach the door to the restaurant. “Lovely day ain’t it?” quips a miserable looking waitress. “Yeah, lovely.” I shoot back.
She shows me to the table I had called to reserve the day before, but it turns out there was little point. Other than one man pushing a plate of what looks like pancakes, roast lamb and fish sticks around his plate, I am alone in the open planned room.
I take a seat in the corner booth, and order myself a pot of coffee and a slice of pie. As my subject hasn’t arrived, I take the liberty of ordering her some food, just to make her feel at home.
A few minutes later, the waitress returns with the coffee and a pair of empty cups. She fills one to the brim, leaving almost no room for milk, and heads back to her station. I try to pour a little milk into the top of my cup, but end up overflowing and spilling onto the table. I bring my lips to the cup and sip away a little of the liquid, and simultaneously pat at the puddle on the table with a napkin.
As I look up from the mess I made, a shadow appears across the table.