It must have been an especially unusual coincidence for them. A deep blue vehicle strained into the empty parking lot. There was a tired, grizzly man idling on a bump on the road. Several fragments of newspaper drifted in the night air, dancing to the hum of the restaurant's soft pop.
The entirety of the parking lot was a blank, except for a handful of vehicles parked very close to the restaurant. Tall hanging lights glimmered in the distance over Laurence Drive. The automat to which he and the man approached looked like a hollow opening to the heart of something alive and breathing.
From the distance, the girl could hear two doors of a car slam, a drum one after another. If she had not paid close attention, it would have appeared to her as only one because they were so near in unison, but for some reason she was especially reclusive that day, and her mind wandered in reflection, so she noticed things that others did not notice, and did not notice things that were right in front of her.
"Hello?" Tressa waved.
"Sorry."
Tressa just sighed a little and rose a cup of coffee towards her mouth.
Two men enter. They were barely noticed by the young lady sitting next to her friend as they called over the waiter.
The young lady has a look of perplexity in her face. Such a presence in beauty is unnatural. Her friend is reading over an old magazine that had been left on top of the table when they got there. The glassy tables shine the yellow of lights that splay across the automat tenderly. The side of every wall is toned with the same harsh black as the outside. The chair that the girl rests appears crooked and brown, and it seems as if it may cut her bare, white legs.
From the edge of the world, the tired, grizzly man resting on a bump on the road looks over to the restaurant in his old gray eyes. His eyes are baby white now. They spark with a sudden youth. He holds on to something in his chest as he watches the man with gray hair shaking something heavy and black in his hand.
The grizzly man sees the face of elegance stare through the specter of death.
There is a light scream, as if part of a song, and then three heavy drops of lead that ring straight into his beaten heart. One. Two. Three.
Michael stares into the cold, dying eyes of a girl with the look of red winter, and he says not a word to her. He wants to move his eyes away from her but he cannot.
The white ring of the bullet screams in his ears.
Even as he runs away from the restaurant they are both staring at each other, eye to eye.
Even as he runs away into the deep darkness, he can still see her staring at him.
"Oh, and the time's 12. Something wrong?"
"No. There's nothing wrong." Michael says quietly.
The engine stirs. They drive far away into the dark distance, swallowed by the enduring pitch of the night.
