I shoulder open the door to the diner, expecting a blast of cold air to hit my face. Instead, I am met with a muggy breeze that makes my skin crawl. It’s a slow, humid Monday and I have never been more glad that I don’t have work. Although there are better places that I could spend my afternoon in, I think to myself. I take in my surroundings, feeling more and more dismayed. The paint on the walls is cracked and peeling, once a stately blue, now a sickly grey color. Several fluorescent light bulbs flicker above me, which only adds to the state of disrepair the place is in. The whole diner reeks of fryer grease and lemon-scented cleaner, a most unpleasant combination. Hanging back a little, I look at the faded menu, sorting out my order. I note…show more content… “What can I do for you today?”
“Um, could I have a small iced coffee, sweetened, with a spot of cream?”
“It’ll be right there.” He rings me up. “Four-eighty-eight.”
Handing him a five, my eyes are drawn to his hand, which is tanned and calloused. My attention drifts elsewhere as I drop the change in the tip jar, the coins clinking against each…show more content… The vinyl seats are in surprisingly good condition compared to the rest of the diner, and I am only slightly disgusted when I sit down, although the rips poking into my legs worsens it. I wait patiently for the man to bring me my coffee, although it takes several minutes until I hear movement coming from his direction. When he finally brings it to me, he looks far too much like a petulant teenager than he should for a twenty-something man. After he leaves, I take a sip of my rather bland coffee, gazing out the dirty window. Despite the heat, the streets are still crowded with people. In the quiet of the diner, where the only noise is the humming of the coffee machines, looking out into the busy world feels surreal. An important looking man in a sharp suit speaks angrily into a phone while a woman tries to calm a screaming baby, obviously distressed. Nearby, a teenage couple seems to be fighting, gesturing animatedly at each other. I gaze at them, entranced by the lives of strangers playing out in front of me. It strikes me, then, how these are only three of the billions of lives going on outside the little bubble surrounding this diner, and I feel very small and insignificant. A few teenage boys whizz by on skateboards, whooping so loudly I can hear them through the glass, breaking the moment. The waiter mutters something belligerently to no one in
