Why does the coffee percolator brew for customers who ordered in 1924? Which booth holds conversations between patrons who arrive in different decades? What's on the blue plate special that the menu won't reveal? And why does the cash register ring up purchases in currency that stopped circulating years ago?
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There’s a safety in thinking in a diner. You can have your coffee or your milk shake, and you can go off into strange dark areas, and always come back to the safety of the diner.
― David Lynch, Catching the Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity
The neon sign buzzed against the desert sky, casting sickly pink light across the cracked asphalt. Helen pulled her truck up to the pumps, grateful to find civilization after hours of empty highway. The attached diner glowed warmly through its windows, promising hot coffee and human company.
The fuel flowed strangely thick from the nozzle, with an oily rainbow sheen that seemed to move independently of the liquid beneath. Helen frowned, watching the numbers climb on the ancient pump. Twenty dollars. Forty. The tank should have been full by now.
Inside the diner, three customers sat at the counter, their backs perfectly straight, coffee cups untouched and steaming. The waitress---a pale woman with eyes like black marbles---smiled too widely as Helen entered. “Coffee, hon? Just made fresh.” Her voice carried strange harmonics, like singing heard through water.
Helen nodded, sliding onto a stool. The coffee tasted of copper pennies and something organic she couldn’t identify. The other customers turned in unison to look at her, their faces smooth and featureless except for those same marble eyes. When they spoke, it was in perfect synchronization: “Welcome to the family.”
The waitress refilled Helen’s cup without being asked. “Don’t worry about the taste,” she said, her smile never wavering. “You’ll get used to it. Everyone does, eventually. The fuel helps too---gets into your system faster that way.” Helen tried to stand, but her legs had gone numb. Through the window, she watched her truck’s headlights pulse in rhythm with her slowing heartbeat.
By morning, there would be four customers at the counter, sitting perfectly straight, their coffee growing cold as they waited for the next traveler to discover this oasis of civilization in the endless desert.
