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WALKING INTO THE old-fashioned diner reminded me of movies or television shows your mother or older sister would swear by. The "classics" that consisted of a group of teenagers; they've just left their seasonal Friday night football game and have decided to stop by the local diner to speak about their winning streak.
Except this "classic" comprised of Ryan, her friends, and I entering their childhood hangout. I'm thrilled to be able to behold a compact part of Ryan's youth. Instead of leaving from our Friday night extravaganza, we recently left from the surprisingly astonishing Frosted Formal.
You would think seeing a group of kids entering a diner around 10:30 PM in their formal-wear would be odd to the employees, however they acted as if it wasn't out of the blue. I admired it though.
"I hope Mr.Mooney is here," Daniel advised, scooting into a booth-seat beside Ivy. "He's usually working on Friday nights."
I slid into the red leather booth soon after Ryan, watching Mariah squeeze into the few inches left on the seat across from us. She punched her fist into Daniel's thigh, causing him to wince in pain. "Scoot over, headass."
The aroma was everything you would think of when you think of the word diner. Hamburgers, grease, and fries. It's the overall American experience, but there was one strange artifact to it.
It's me, I'm the strange artifact.
Being the only English human in a gymnasium/diner full of Americans feels dehumanizing yet I love it at the same time. I feel out of place, of course, but I would rather be the odd one out in a place where Ryan happens to be beside me than anywhere else.
"Who's Mr.Mooney?" I questioned him, throwing my left arm around Ryan's head and then resting it on the booth's backrest. The blonde boy I've grown closer to sat between Mariah and Ivy, an amusing sight to see honestly.
