The bell above the door gave a tired jingle as Minnie stepped into the 59 Diner, its ring barely reaching the handful of patrons scattered in booths and at the counter. No one turned. It was that kind of place, where people came to be left alone.
She stood still for a beat, letting her eyes adjust to the warm, amber gloom. A neon sign buzzed lazily above the register. The floors were worn, and the vinyl seats bore the faded ghosts of past customers, but the space smelled like syrup and coffee, like comfort in a tired body.
Minnie looked the way someone might after a long day turned into a long week. Her blouse, once crisply tucked, had loosened on one side beneath her belted coat. The leather satchel on her shoulder was heavy with museum files, and she clutched a few folders in her hands, pressing them gently to her chest as though they were the only things keeping her upright.
Without a word, she made her way to the last booth in the far corner. Hidden, quiet, and familiar in a strange sort of way. She slid into the seat with a quiet exhale, as if the motion itself took effort, and set her things down carefully, too carefully really, for anyone who wasn’t trying to keep from unraveling.
Her hair had slipped from its morning pins, falling in soft, dark waves around her face. She brushed a strand behind her ear and opened one of the folders, flipping through yellowing documents and grainy images of relics long buried. Her fingers moved with precision, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Not lost, just… far away.
A waitress appeared, chewing gum behind a pad of paper. “Coffee?”
Minnie nodded. “Yes, please. Just a splash of milk.”
She offered the woman a small smile, tired, polite, not quite reaching her eyes and returned to her notes, though her gaze lingered a little too long on the same line of text.
She wasn’t hiding exactly. Just waiting for the world to feel steady again.
She stood still for a beat, letting her eyes adjust to the warm, amber gloom. A neon sign buzzed lazily above the register. The floors were worn, and the vinyl seats bore the faded ghosts of past customers, but the space smelled like syrup and coffee, like comfort in a tired body.
Minnie looked the way someone might after a long day turned into a long week. Her blouse, once crisply tucked, had loosened on one side beneath her belted coat. The leather satchel on her shoulder was heavy with museum files, and she clutched a few folders in her hands, pressing them gently to her chest as though they were the only things keeping her upright.
Without a word, she made her way to the last booth in the far corner. Hidden, quiet, and familiar in a strange sort of way. She slid into the seat with a quiet exhale, as if the motion itself took effort, and set her things down carefully, too carefully really, for anyone who wasn’t trying to keep from unraveling.
Her hair had slipped from its morning pins, falling in soft, dark waves around her face. She brushed a strand behind her ear and opened one of the folders, flipping through yellowing documents and grainy images of relics long buried. Her fingers moved with precision, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Not lost, just… far away.
A waitress appeared, chewing gum behind a pad of paper. “Coffee?”
Minnie nodded. “Yes, please. Just a splash of milk.”
She offered the woman a small smile, tired, polite, not quite reaching her eyes and returned to her notes, though her gaze lingered a little too long on the same line of text.
She wasn’t hiding exactly. Just waiting for the world to feel steady again.
Sunnyside Memorial Hospital was located half a mile away from the beach. Far enough away that one could not see the waves but you sure could smell them. He wasn't used to the beach life. Snow and ice had been his steady companions, only leaving him for a few short months of summer. What they called winter here would have been considered summer where he was from. Talk about your culture shock. He had been sought after and seduced by the promise of a private practice that was attached to a prominent and accredited teaching hospital. It combined the two things he loved, medicine and teaching. Then he moved here.
Most people think doctors, especially surgeons, were wealthy people. Yeah, maybe after practicing for twenty years. Most medical students were up to their eyeballs in debt and barely able to feed themselves from the minimal money they actually brought home and could spend. It was for this reason Dr. Luca was now residing in the less than spectacular lodgings of the Sunset Beach Condos, Room 406.
He had just wrapped up a rather long day of patients and only one emergency surgery. He was too tired to go home and cook and he was sick and tired of takeout and drive thru food. He wanted something that could resemble a home cooked meal. He had heard good things about the food at The Black Anchor, but a bar wasn't really appealing to him. But the little classic looking diner on the other hand, that might just be what the doctor ordered.
He had changed out of his scrubs at the hospital, throwing them in the gym bag he had strapped across his chest. He was in a pair of nice jeans that fit him well, a pair of sensible dress shoes, and a navy blue polo shirt.
He entered the diner and was struck by the attempt at bringing back the feel of the nineteen fifties. He swung by a jukebox that was sitting in the corner to see if it worked. To his surprise it worked! He flipped through the available songs and settled on Bobby Darin's - Dream Lover. With his head bobbing to the beat, he grabbed a seat at the counter and checked out the menu for something that looked good.
Most people think doctors, especially surgeons, were wealthy people. Yeah, maybe after practicing for twenty years. Most medical students were up to their eyeballs in debt and barely able to feed themselves from the minimal money they actually brought home and could spend. It was for this reason Dr. Luca was now residing in the less than spectacular lodgings of the Sunset Beach Condos, Room 406.
He had just wrapped up a rather long day of patients and only one emergency surgery. He was too tired to go home and cook and he was sick and tired of takeout and drive thru food. He wanted something that could resemble a home cooked meal. He had heard good things about the food at The Black Anchor, but a bar wasn't really appealing to him. But the little classic looking diner on the other hand, that might just be what the doctor ordered.
He had changed out of his scrubs at the hospital, throwing them in the gym bag he had strapped across his chest. He was in a pair of nice jeans that fit him well, a pair of sensible dress shoes, and a navy blue polo shirt.
He entered the diner and was struck by the attempt at bringing back the feel of the nineteen fifties. He swung by a jukebox that was sitting in the corner to see if it worked. To his surprise it worked! He flipped through the available songs and settled on Bobby Darin's - Dream Lover. With his head bobbing to the beat, he grabbed a seat at the counter and checked out the menu for something that looked good.
Minnie had been fighting off sleep for the better part of an hour, her head nodding over brittle museum notes and half-faded photographs. She’d shifted in the booth more times than she could count, her body too exhausted to focus but too restless to truly rest.
The slam of the bathroom door startled her enough to jolt her upright. A gust of air rushed past, sending the loose pages on her table skittering like startled birds. One caught the breeze and floated up, spinning lazily across the diner floor.
Minnie let out a low, tired grumble, pushing herself to her feet as she went after it. She moved on autopilot, half-asleep, half-dazed, her heels tapping unevenly against the cracked tile. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wayward page just as her foot slid on a forgotten puddle of water near the counter.
Time seemed to slow.
Her ankle twisted sharply beneath her, bending at an angle no ankle was meant to bend. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as she stumbled, arms flailing uselessly for balance. The world tipped sideways, and before she could catch herself, Minnie crumpled hard onto the floor with an ungraceful thud.
The entire diner seemed to freeze.
Color flooded her face immediately, burning a bright, humiliated red. Tears, half from the sharp bite of pain, half from pure mortification, pooled at the corners of her eyes. She squeezed them shut, willing herself not to cry, not to make a scene.
The blasted paper she had chased fluttered up against her knee mockingly. Minnie snatched it up with trembling fingers and tried to push herself up, but the moment she put weight on her injured foot, a lightning bolt of pain shot up her leg. She whimpered and dropped back onto the grimy floor with a soft, broken sound, clutching the page uselessly to her chest.
For a moment she just sat there, ankles throbbing, heart pounding, the sticky diner floor cold against her palms. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the sting of humiliation stronger than the physical pain.
Please, she prayed silently, just let the earth open up and swallow me.
The slam of the bathroom door startled her enough to jolt her upright. A gust of air rushed past, sending the loose pages on her table skittering like startled birds. One caught the breeze and floated up, spinning lazily across the diner floor.
Minnie let out a low, tired grumble, pushing herself to her feet as she went after it. She moved on autopilot, half-asleep, half-dazed, her heels tapping unevenly against the cracked tile. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wayward page just as her foot slid on a forgotten puddle of water near the counter.
Time seemed to slow.
Her ankle twisted sharply beneath her, bending at an angle no ankle was meant to bend. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as she stumbled, arms flailing uselessly for balance. The world tipped sideways, and before she could catch herself, Minnie crumpled hard onto the floor with an ungraceful thud.
The entire diner seemed to freeze.
Color flooded her face immediately, burning a bright, humiliated red. Tears, half from the sharp bite of pain, half from pure mortification, pooled at the corners of her eyes. She squeezed them shut, willing herself not to cry, not to make a scene.
The blasted paper she had chased fluttered up against her knee mockingly. Minnie snatched it up with trembling fingers and tried to push herself up, but the moment she put weight on her injured foot, a lightning bolt of pain shot up her leg. She whimpered and dropped back onto the grimy floor with a soft, broken sound, clutching the page uselessly to her chest.
For a moment she just sat there, ankles throbbing, heart pounding, the sticky diner floor cold against her palms. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the sting of humiliation stronger than the physical pain.
Please, she prayed silently, just let the earth open up and swallow me.
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