I stumble into a diner on the corner of Permeating and Decadence. I picked a booth in the back by the kitchen. The clanging dishes were soothing. A waitress with a beehive hairdo, popping some chewing gum poured me a cup of coffee. She took my order of smothered and covered spuds and eggs. Fresh coffee was painted along the outside window but, by the smell of it, fresh must mean scorched from a couple of hours ago.

Innocence caught the attention of my bloodshot eyes. A young waitress and patron were nervously flirting with each other over raggedy menus and steaming eggs. The smiles and giggles were hypnotic yet rapidly heading towards the birth of lifetime of blissful moments. Or, perhaps this will exist as just a few stolen moments spent in a fogged up window multi-fueled sedan wiggling and gasping. There is something to be said for American muscle.

Taking another sip of coffee, I noticed that a man walked in. He was the very definition of cool. He looked like an extra in the sequel of “Superfly”. As I realized that there wasn't a sequel I began wondering did he seriously walk out the house dressed like that. I gave him a courteous nod hello then finished eating my breakfast of delight topped up with the coffee that could easily stand on its own without a cup. Ahhh..what a bitter memory to taste.

My index finger fished around inside my empty packs of cigarettes as if fishing my finger about was going make more cigarettes appear. I grin a bit as I find one, a bent one, right in the very corner of the pack. I perch it between my lips as I scramble through my coat, fishing for a light. Right on cue, the beehive appeared again offering a light as she shuffled my plate away. Taking that first drag after a meal was contentment in a puff while I pulled my old notebook out to finish the deed. My scribing is what gets me through but it is also what keeps me lost in yesterday.

Through my burning eyes I see a diner full of assorted characters screaming their individuality. Yet, when it boils down to it, they are just ordinary people and am just a scriber of the stories their faces speak while their mouths tell another. Writing others pain so I can hide from my own seems to get easier every day writing the memoirs of a breath.