You finish the pie and ask for the check. “Check pleasssse,” you say, whispering it into your drinking glass as is custom, and then lifting the tray of sugar packets to find it, filled out and ready to be paid. You drop a few dollars onto the check, place it back under the sugars, wait for the sound of swallowing, and leave the diner. The waitress nods as you leave, but not at you. She nods slowly and rhythmically to music only she can hear, her eyes riding the curved line of neon lights above the menu.
As you start the car, the man on the radio says something about the weather.
[“You Don’t Know” by Mount Moon. For more music by Mount Moon, check out mountmoon.bandcamp.com.]