I walked into the nearly empty diner and was hit by the strong smell of Windex burning the inside of my nose. My face furrowed at the familiar chemical-y scent brought upon the vibrant blue cleaner drenching the windows.
White lights beamed down below from the long flickering fixtures up above, hanging onto the grease-stained ceiling. Whisps of timeless jazz seem to trickle from the vintage jukebox lying in the corner. No one was to be seen in the front, rows of empty bright red booths lined the ceramic checkered flooring of the diner lying empty. Only a shell of the diner I once spent trying to conceal myself from the scorching summers, ordering milkshakes and sundaes to cool off, away from the blazing sun. Or the diner I’d curl up in during frigid winters, always asking for a warm cup of hot chocolate with exactly 5 marshmallows bobbing around in the mug.
But those now are only memories I can hold close to my heart now, I’m much too old to be participating in these activities I enjoyed many years ago.
I walk towards a booth down to the far end of the room, next to a window. The rain stuck on the glass panels, pattering against the cold surface. The seats were as vibrant and springy as ever, somehow one of the only things to haven’t changed throughout the many years. Faint steps hit the ceramic tiles, and gradually make their way toward my table. I looked up and a seemingly middle-aged lady stood with a pen and notepad in hand.
“What could I get you tonight sir?”
She asked as her lips curled into a slight smile.
“Just a vanilla milkshake please,”
She gave a small nod and then made her way back to the kitchen. Even with the obvious run-downness of the whole place, I can't help but feel so comforted by it. I guess this is all I have now, the only place I can really feel vulnerable in. What else do I hold? The ones I care for the most left too soon, leaving me behind.
But there isn’t much I can do now, can I?
The waitress’s shoes clicked along the flooring, now carrying a half-foot-long glass in one hand and a bill in the other.
“Here’s your drink sir, hope you enjoy,”
She expressed softly, again smiling before heading back into the kitchen. I look out to the night-filled window, slightly reeking of Windex while sipping from a bright red straw tasting my bitter-sweet memories of the past.
White lights beamed down below from the long flickering fixtures up above, hanging onto the grease-stained ceiling. Whisps of timeless jazz seem to trickle from the vintage jukebox lying in the corner. No one was to be seen in the front, rows of empty bright red booths lined the ceramic checkered flooring of the diner lying empty. Only a shell of the diner I once spent trying to conceal myself from the scorching summers, ordering milkshakes and sundaes to cool off, away from the blazing sun. Or the diner I’d curl up in during frigid winters, always asking for a warm cup of hot chocolate with exactly 5 marshmallows bobbing around in the mug.
But those now are only memories I can hold close to my heart now, I’m much too old to be participating in these activities I enjoyed many years ago.
I walk towards a booth down to the far end of the room, next to a window. The rain stuck on the glass panels, pattering against the cold surface. The seats were as vibrant and springy as ever, somehow one of the only things to haven’t changed throughout the many years. Faint steps hit the ceramic tiles, and gradually make their way toward my table. I looked up and a seemingly middle-aged lady stood with a pen and notepad in hand.
“What could I get you tonight sir?”
She asked as her lips curled into a slight smile.
“Just a vanilla milkshake please,”
She gave a small nod and then made her way back to the kitchen. Even with the obvious run-downness of the whole place, I can't help but feel so comforted by it. I guess this is all I have now, the only place I can really feel vulnerable in. What else do I hold? The ones I care for the most left too soon, leaving me behind.
But there isn’t much I can do now, can I?
The waitress’s shoes clicked along the flooring, now carrying a half-foot-long glass in one hand and a bill in the other.
“Here’s your drink sir, hope you enjoy,”
She expressed softly, again smiling before heading back into the kitchen. I look out to the night-filled window, slightly reeking of Windex while sipping from a bright red straw tasting my bitter-sweet memories of the past.
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