|-JOHN DOE-|
"Come on, Jack! Are you gonna just let me walk down here alone?"
"Since when do I 'let' you do anything?"
"Since you married me and thus enthusiastically endorsed all my ideas. When else?"
"You're a menace to society, Kat."
"Does that mean you're letting me check out this gorge alone?"
"Of course not. Wait up."
It is a beautiful day. Most days are beautiful in Idle. Most nights are beautiful in Idle, for that matter. There are so rarely any clouds that might blunt or block the beauty of the light. This is one of the things John Doe likes most--he does not appreciate obfuscation, especially when it comes to light.
The daylight beats down on the Idling Diner with particular intensity. There are only three restaurants in Idle, and two of them are found on the west side of town. John Doe patronizes them with equal fervor. It is important, he has said, to appreciate the places where one eats.
The bell above the diner's door rings, and the waitress Junie looks up from her newspaper. John Doe stands inside her diner. Junie is used to seeing John Doe here. She puts on her professional smile. "Take a seat anywhere, darlin'. It's a slow day."
John Doe's name is not darlin', but correcting Junie serves no purpose. Most days are slow in the Idling Diner. He is sitting in his usual seat, where the window overlooks the main road. Junie brings him coffee which is steaming hot.
"New folks in town," she observes, looking out the window at the gas station.
John Doe has seen them. He knows everyone in Idle, and they are not from Idle. He made Barbara a promise once, and part of that promise meant knowing everyone in the town.
"You think they'll stay long?"
John Doe keeps watching the car. New people rarely stay long unless they have something to tether them. Idle is not a magnetic place of itself.
"Hopefully they'll bring a bit of business before it's time to leave, at least." Junie knows John Doe's order: a BLT with pickle and fries. The coffee is gone. She refills it. She sees the creamer and sugars at the table are empty and resolves to refill those as well.
Barbara has complained of slow business as well. John Doe has offered to do something about that, only to be rebuffed. Barbara is very independent and dislikes it when he does too much for her. It is an oddity he blames on her other parent.
Junie leaves and returns with his meal. The coffee is gone, and she refills it. The ketchup is gone. John Doe watches the car. It is a good quality car which likely cost a fair amount of money.
"See something you like?" She asks.
There is no meal on the plate. There is money on the table: exact change with an 18% tip.
John Doe is not in the diner.
There is no car in the gas station.
|-TERRE SCHAEFER-|
The Bard leaned over the near-empty milk crate. "Here's one," it hummed.
On the other side of the splintering wooden desk, the Scribe slowly unwound from the hunched position it assumed over a nasty piece of paper streaked with ink and mold. It leaned around the crate to gaze silently at the Bard, who held the cassette up to the light high above them. Its plastic casing was cracked in places; no bother, as long as the tape itself was undamaged.
