September 19, 2009
I don’t know where my noir-fascination originated, but there’s something special about dialogue that sizzles like bacon. I’ve always been a sucker for diner-lingo. A few months ago, it inspired this short story….
Above the clouds, it still rains. No pitter-patter. More like split-pea mist.
Floating highway roars outside. Looks like Jetsons. Smells like Jersey.
Naked Lady Calendar: July. Never used to rain in July.
Electric eye jingles an 8-bit interlude above the door. Octo-Gen with no teeth dodders in. Orders a hockey puck, so I burn one.
Behind the counter, flipping the burger. Synth-beef smells like octane. Octo-gen eyes an antique on the shelf. Faded decal on the side. “Historic Route 66”. Been there since I started here. Décor, I guess.