Vicki dropped me off at my apartment, made promises to call with plans for tommorow. I waited until she had dissapeared around the corner before I climbed into my car. The night was still young. Plus, if Vicki knew I was going out directly after being out with her, she would probably get all weird about it.

On an impulse, I stopped at the Denny’s on Park Street. This place was so awful it could almost be reduced to kitsch. There were a few late night stragglers inside, mostly old people who smelled like stale sticky buns and cigarettes who mulled silently over watery coffee and limp rubbery eggs with too much pepper spilled on top.

I sat at the counter, ordered a hot chocolate and pulled out my book from my bag. Soon, I became so absorbed, I didn’t even notice the guy two seats down, watching me intently. He never bothered me, never said a word, but I knew he was looking at me. I stole a glance, and he looked away quickly, embarassed.

I turned in my seat and glared, “What?” I said.