The Impatient Man and His Suit

Nightly Conversation

Upon entering the Diner, I came to find Michael at his usual station: sweeping under the booths and Darla at hers: investing time in a celebrity gossip magazine, who for a moment on hearing the door open, lifted her head up to see me, awkwardly smiling beside the door.

"What are you--..." she inquired shortly, snapping her tongue back into her mouth once she spotted the fair-haired man who stood near me.

She paused and slowly descended her magazine down onto the counter in front of her. Her expression went from "glad to see you" to speculative in a matter of seconds. To the left of us at the far end of the diner stood Michael, staring with the same expression Darla had, and with his old red broom, chipping with paint, clasped in his hands.

"You see..." I tried, "Darla, could you—can i...h-have a word with you perhaps, in the back?" I finally managed.

Leaving Michael and the blonde alone, me and Darla stepped into the kitchen for a while. As soon as we were able to talk privately, Darla began shooting a series of endless questions and comments upon the strange matter I found myself in. She would have gone on all night if I hadn't of interrupted her.

"Darla, I really can't answer your questions for the time being," I insisted after I had successfully managed to silence her.

"I have some business to attend to...and see—Would it be alright if you and Michael went home for the night? I'll close everything up nice and tight, I promise," I pleaded not knowing whether or not she would agree to it. For as long as her lungs could withhold, Darla inhaled and exhaled a very large sigh. I knew that she felt uneasy not only due to the tall and evil-eyed man standing in the next room but because of the scarcity of details I had in my explanation. I was, as usual, incredibly and trustworthily informative, no matter the situation.

"You're an adult now, I see that and I trust ya' I do," She stated, nodding her head several times, "But talking with a man like that in an empty restaurant in the dead of night doesn't sound like a rationally safe thing to do, love... I don't know what business you could have with your own stalker," she chuckled after a short while.

"I admit he is a sketchy creature...But you must trust me on this. I can't explain why but this is the safest place at the moment. I simply just need it for a couple of hours and I'll close it up."

I waited silently for her final answer, and after a couple of minutes had passed she started again.

"Have you got that pepper spray I bought you last Christmas—"

"Yes, yes. In my bag see," I smiled pulling out the small can as proof of its presence.

Darla stood for a couple moments more, peaking through the order window to observe the blonde who was now sitting a booth.

"Alright then," she nodded her head and began walking to a coat rack by the exit door, taking up her jacket and Michael's. I was grateful for her unliekly resolution. Vacating the kitchen, I found Michael viciously swaying his broom back and forth as he worked on a pile of crumbs in a far-off corner, his eyes shooting directly across the room at Malfoy who still sat quietly in his booth. Darla approached the front door and threw Michael his jacket, declaring "Closing time."

Michael, with a look of confusion, caught his jacket midair and paused his sweeping.

"But –..."

"No questions, come on then," interrupted Darla pushing the glass door open.

With what looked like irritated haste, Michael quickly leaned his broom against a corner, and passing the counter stopped to give me a sort of nod telepathically asking, "you alright with this?"