A Touch of Hope

Chapter 12 - The Diner

Out in the street, the hot wind swirled around Flipsey's legs, rustling his trousers and flowing through his still wet, unkempt hair. The oppressive heat had beaten on through the night and continued to rein over the morning, suffocating all signs of life and forcing even the most determined person into the shadows. The morning sun had risen early that day and already stood tall and proud over the street, dominating the landscape. The harsh sun rays scorched the ground, torching the tarmac, wilting the grass and cracking the dry, dusty earth.

Shading his eyes from the sun with a clawed hand, Flipsey calmed his nerves, focusing on a few deep breaths, and squinted at his surroundings. The flea-ridden beggar still sheltered under his blanket in the shop doorway, the shop long since having closed. Its faded sign creaked above, its paint cracking and blistering in the sun. Its rusted hinges showed that the shop had been out of use for a number of years. Flipsey remembered 'Den's Diner' as a hive of activity. It had been his personal favourite restaurant before it had closed, stifled by the plague. Before it was finally forced out of business by the new regime after limping along for several years. The food itself was questionable, always from an unknown source, but the nostalgia made up for it. It had been made out as a 1950s diner. Shiny, red, plush leather seats that cracked and crinkled when people sat on them, stood at tall, silver, round tables that glittered in the light that hung down above, the red lampshade blending well with the seats. The tiled floor had never been perfect, there was always a cracked or missing tile or two, but the shades of blue that spread across the floor had given the place a peaceful aura. Everything was right with the world when Flipsey would sit at one of the booths, nursing a milkshake and staring into the depths of the blue floor, creating an ocean that would wash all his concerns away. He needed that floor now. The diner had been an explosion of colour, the waitresses would run the place like a well-oiled machine, a whirlwind of colour as they'd breeze past the tables in flouncy, polka dot dresses, each one a unique colour, bright enough to put a meadow to shame. None of the waitresses wore a scrap of make up, their bright eyes and wide grins decorated their faces, their genuine happiness and warmth shining from within.

The owner, Denise, had been hugely respected in the community. She stood at the head of a business empire that she had built for herself, starting in that little diner outside Flispey's house. She'd continued to work at the diner as a waitress, despite her business empire. Her soulful laugh had warmed the place and was the main reason she had so many customers. She would welcome all customers with open arms, taking part in a lot of charity work and insuring nobody ever went hungry. She would have been dismayed that there was a beggar on her doorstep that didn't have a place to go. They'd have been ushered in, treated to a milkshake and helped back onto their feet. Denise was the kind of person everyone should aspire to, that was why she had to go.