When you meet The Author, what will she say?
Will she quote the opening lines of all her unfinished stories?
Will she spin the world inside your coffee?
Cuts in the booths are sealed with tape. Sports announcers and right wingers rant on turned-up TV. Piped-in power balads compete for attention.
Behind the counter teenagers are bored. Older ladies better appreciate the fact of their paycheck.
No-one busses. As if in hiding from the sun, no-one leaves. Tired customers and tireder Halloween ghouls sag. The right-wingers rave, the ballads power, keys rattle. A lady smiles: my lunch is here.