My Hockey Alpha



Niral

Enzo and I followed the old man, Frank, into the diner.

We were short on time, but Frank was right; we had an important journey ahead of us, and we couldn't accomplish our goals on nothing but coffee and potato chips. Neither of us had eaten in over a day by now, and we were both starving.

Frank opened the door to the old retro diner, causing the little bell to hit the glass and jingle loudly. This diner was a lot like the one that I worked at; there were some vinyl-covered booths in the windows along with a long, enamel counter lined with stools. Everything seemed to be either a shade of sky blue or cream white - even the waitress's uniform. It was, essentially, the quintessential North American diner. Aside from the fact that the people here were all werewolves or some other form of occult, it didn't really even feel as though I set foot outside of Mountainview.

Without waiting for the waitress, Frank led us over to a booth in the corner and slid into the seat with a grunt, as though his old bones felt strained just from the process of sitting down. Enzo and I slid into the seat across from him.

A few moments later, the waitress - who was wearing a blue dress with a white apron, almost exactly like the one that I wore at the diner in Mountainview - came up to us and poured steaming black coffee into three thick mugs without a word. She plopped a small pitcher of creamer down on the counter. There was no sugar anywhere to be found.

"Hey, Frank," the waitress said with a bit of a sigh. "Good day for driving."

"Yup." As usual, Frank was a man of few words. I quickly began to realize that maybe that was just the way he talked to everything, and that it wasn't just because Enzo and I were outsiders.

The waitress then slowly turned her head to look at Enzo and me, and locked us both up and down deliberately. She was chewing a piece of gum, and smacked her lips with it as she stared at us.

"Who're you?"

"Uh.." I began, feeling small beneath the waitress's glare. Enzo, however, stepped in for me.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

"We're just passing through," he said. He almost seemed to take on the same cadence that these people had. It made me realize that Enzo really was from this place, after all, and maybe the way that he spoke back in Mountainview wasn't natural to his normal way of speaking. I supposed that living in a place for several years could do that to someone.

"Hm." The waitress nodded slowly, then pulled her notepad out to take our orders. I hated to admit it, but I appreciated the fact that these people didn't ask too many questions. Whether or not they simply didn't care or they genuinely didn't want to get involved in the doings of outsiders was a mystery to me. Maybe it was a combination of both.

"Three burgers," Frank suddenly said. "Extra cheese."

"Mhm. Fries?" the waitress asked.

"Yup. Thanks, Louise."

"Mhm."

The waitress walked away without another word, leaving Enzo, Frank, and I alone at our booth. There was a long, awkward silence; I didn't know what to say at this point, because after our brief conversation - if one could even call it that - in the truck, I had learned that Frank wasn't the chatty type.

However, I simply couldn't contain my curiosity. As I discreetly glanced around at the other diner patrons, I realized that everyone had a similar look to them. The men were all dressed in ragged work clothes, and the women weren't dressed much differently. There was even one woman dressed in a diner uniform sitting at a table with a man and a toddler, indicating that she was probably sitting with her family for her lunch break. And if the town that we met Frank in was any indicator in combination with the way that everyone else dressed, it certainly seemed as though this area wasn't the most financially fortunate.