Huffing and puffing I didn’t stop running until I was in a diner three blocks away. I tumbled into a booth and sank my head into my hands.
“Hey there tall, dark and sweaty, what can I getcha’?” The waitress was wearing a dirty apron and a smirk. Her blond hair hung limp and greasy, like the rest of her.
“C-c-coffee,” I stammered, returning my head to my hands.
She disappeared but reappeared faster than I would have thought possible, or perhaps I was just zoning out. I was trying desperately to forget, to not think.
“Here’s your coffee, sweetie. Sugar and creamers are on the table.” Her voice was sweet now, a bit concerned. Place like this people must come in with sob stories all the time. As I was going for the cup with a trembling hand, she was saying back over her shoulder, “Jeez-a-loo Carl, when did you put up this creepy picture? Disturbing.”
I felt hot vomit creep up my throat and threaten to explode. I didn’t look. I didn’t think. I jumped up and ran, blocking out the screams behind me.