Fog, oh gods. I hate fog. Not simply because it is connected to horror movies, but because it is impossible to see while driving at three in the morning. Why the heck am I driving to the forest? What am I going to find? Freaking zombies walking aimlessly through the fog? Yeah right, I wish. They would make for much better conversation than the people around these parts.
A narrow curve is felt as the road starts to twist. I snicker as I slowly turn to the right, a tree branch whacks the side mirror.
I hate fog.
The fog spreads faster and grows denser as I arrive at a destination. I see a sign lit up in red and white, I can hardly make out what it says as the fog smothers the light. I pull into what I hope to be the parking lot to stop and check it out, let the fog thin a bit. I turn on the wipers to take the mist off my windshield so I can get a visual. Speaking of horror movies, this diner sure looked like it could fit into one.
I surpassed the muddy obstacles as I made my way to the entrance, a crust of mud covered the sides of my shoes. The porch consisted of rotten wood that accented the trimmings of the door and windows, and mold grew on the ceiling that could barely hold itself. What is worse is that they are open for business. I wipe the disappointment and disgust off my face pushing forth into the diner.
A blast of warm air hits my face, it is immediate relief from the frigid air outside and the clinging moisture. My eyes wander from the bare corner to the rat eaten cotton seats, and the cliche red and white tiled dirty floor. A gruff takes me by surprise as I briskly turn around to face an implacable blonde mustache.
"A bit early to be wandering around here? No?" The man spits as he cleans glass with a blue rag. Cliche, cliche. I sigh and place my hands inside of my pockets of the pea coat that curtains my legs. I take a seat on a brown, somehow modest stool. My eyes hover over his red plaid shirt and the beaten gray cap.
I rest an arm on the unmolded part of the cracked countertop, "What do you have to drink?". I sigh as my fingers fumble with the keys inside of my pocket. Don't say beer, don't say beer.
"At this hour? I can make you a cup of coffee," the man says as he puts down the glass and rests his arm on the countertop. I softly sigh with relief.
I patiently wait as the brew of coffee sweeps the air. My lips tingle, saliva fills my mouth while disappointing my stomach. I stared at the yellow walls, almost as if stained with nicotine.
He turns his attention, "So where you headin' this time of night? Or should I say day? Or.." I quickly cut him off, "I couldn't sleep, so, when I can't sleep I usually just drive around till I get tired.." I kicked myself in the ass for that one, who drives trying to fall asleep? Worst liar, ever.
His mustache waves, "Never heard of that one before but, uh, this coffee should keep you safe". The man awkwardly smiled.
I awkwardly smiled back while playing with the keys in my pocket and quickly sipped the coffee, whisps of steam travel up my nose, and a wave of calm washes over me. Off my peripheral I can see the man glimpsing at me while pretending to wash the dust-stained window.
He faces the window, "Waiting for that to disperse?" The man speaks up. I nod, taking another sip. The coffee is bitter but it helps clear my head.
I attempt to make my stay less awkward, "It's late to be awake at this hour, too. Don't you think?". I place the cup down and start untying the scarf from around my neck. I unbutton a few of the buttons from the coat and wipe my brow with the scarf.
The man smirks and faces me, his eyes intently staring into mine and he says, "You never know when a lost driver might need some help, especially with all that fog". He shoots a wink from across the diner.
