Not loud. Not wild.
Just cold.
I looked around the diner fast, like maybe somebody was filming this. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe one of the cooks had put someone up to it.
But everything looked normal.
My friend Tasha was wiping down the counter.
A family in a corner booth was splitting pancakes.
Two truckers were arguing softly over a football game on the mounted TV.
The world was still the same.
Only my table had turned strange.
“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I said. “I’m just a waitress.”
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