The diner walls are studded with pale white, almost yellowing, and black tiles on the outside. A huge tinted window reflects my gaze, sparkling golden owing to the thousand or so water droplets adorning it.
A funky white font read, 'Celine's Diner. Est. 1964.'
"Geez, you're older than my mum," I gape at the mummified building, wondering how it still worked or attracted its customer base. I press my face against the tinted glass, squinting and frowning for a chance to be able to sneak a peek inside.
"What do they even sell...? I wish it is chicken," I gulp as my stomach groans. I pat it down, gently, wondering if I died of starvation like that girl's pet parrot — would I reincarnate back in my world? Or would it be the end of my journey?
A cold chill runs down my spine. The mere consideration of never existing again makes my gut churn. "We should make this one last," I nod to myself and my body, slowly backing away from the glass when something catches my eye.
The half glass door of the diner is wedged open with the tiniest marble slotted against the threshold and a cockroach crawls its way inside.
"What the fuck..." I whisper, hunching over the almost negligible gap and trying to peek inside. Darkness occludes my vision, but being a wannabe journalist, I always had good senses.
I know there is someone in there. I can feel it in the still heaviness as my eyes blink to adjust to the darkness. As my vision grows accustomed, I spy a Moonbucks cup stranded on one of the many iron tabletops. There is someone, not daring to properly open the door or the lights, which means they do not have the authorisation.
A day time robbery?
A murderer?
A potential scoop of fame and fortune?
I should call the police...but what if it's one of the owners or the workers? Nah, it cannot be. They wouldn't wedge a marble — should I take out the marble and lock them in? No- what if they destroy the property? And if they got in, surely they could walk out...what even is the emergency number in this world?!
My internal panic and ability to stay still to the point of nonexistent must have caught them off guard because suddenly a head pops over the counter and looks left, right and towards the tinted glass window.
Ah, this person already knows I'm here.
Although...they look like they're alone.
I can take one man down. After all, I'm a man as well!
In an instant, I push the door open and shine my phone's flashlight inside. "Who is it? Come out! I know you're in there!"
Suddenly, a thought makes my hands sweat — what if they have a gun on them??
"It's the cleaning service!" Rises a mop from behind the counter, followed by a hooded head and a body. It's a deep voice, so I guess he's a man.
"Why are you cleaning in the darkness? And why are you hiding?" I squint at him, trying to spot any possible allies of his in my peripherals.
"Ah- I, um got fired yesterday but I still need the money so I'm pretending to be a new recruit. They'll kick me again if they know about it...can you please keep this a secret...?" He pleads in a sincere tone.
I gulp.
"Okay then, name me a health code violation!"
He begins moving the mop left and right over the yellowing tiles. "For starters, customers are not supposed to be get snot and mucus in their food..." He drags out.
My eyes narrow at his ridiculous proposition. "Are you referencing Zootopia to me?!" I gasp as he shrugs casually. Against my better judgement, I pace inside, charging at him.
He jumps over the counter, beelining to the door behind me. "Not so fast," I scowl, twisting a ketchup bottle in my hand and shooting it at his chest like a dagger. It catches him off guard; his foot winds up with a chair leg and he topples backwards to the floor.
"Blood, blood, blood, and death," I moan, channeling my best Judy Hopps, as I walk over to his moaning, groaning self.
Under the flashlight, I see his face, brighter than I had seen it all day. I notice the hazel flecks in his dark irises, a small mole underneath his left eye, a small scar over his chin and the soft roughness of his skin.
"Ah, you needed the money, didn't you?" I drawl at him as he rolls his eyes and pushes the flashlight off his face.
"Fuck off, you wouldn't believe me if I told you that I do it out of the goodness of my heart," shouted James Smith. He tries to push me off of him, but I straddle him to lock him down in his agony. "You're stalking me, aren't you? You're the thief! Not me!" He accuses.
I gape in wonder and amusement.
"You have been showing up in all the places I work and you're the one doing shady shit wearing all a black hoodie in this godawful humidity! You're the one with a mop and a black card, making no sense whatsoever!" I shout back.
His hands find a way to my waist and lift me up and off of him with too much of an ease. My manhood, after all day long, feels bruised.
"Why are you so interested in my buisness? Can you not just live your life and stop obsessing over me?!" He gets back up.
"Hah! Me? Obsessing over you? Please —!! Have you seen yourself? You look like an even pessimistic version of Edward Cullen, a white oaf who wears black just to attract more attention to his sad, pathetic self," I spit, getting back up.
"Chile down little chipmunk, your crush is showing," he snickers.
"What the fuck dude?! You have a crush on ME! You talked to me FIRST!" I point out the very obvious.
"Oh did I? No, I think it was you trying to gain my attention," he shrugs, pulling his lips in a smirk.
I scoff at his audacity.
"What an arsehole. I bet you're just here to steal. I bet the black card isn't even yours! I bet you aren't even James Smith!"
"Hey! I knew the pin to the card, okay? Shut up with your accusations," he grumbles.
"Oh please! I bet you got it from some dead brother!"
"I have a dead sister, actually."
"SEE—" I instantly purse my lips shut. He stands with his head low, hands stuffed inside his pockets, something akin to a hurt dog. "Oh- um, are you okay now?!" I stutter, caught off guard with this sudden turn of tone.
"Yeah... I'm fine," he drags out pursing his lips, "She died when I was pretty young. I don't have any memory of her but she prolly has more of mine. She was older than me," he sighs. I sigh with him.
"Losing people is tough but I'm sure she is in a better place now," I pat his back. He nods to me. Suddenly, I notice the distance between us has increased by a considerable number of footsteps.
"I miss her," he sniffles, taking small yet swift steps back.
"Oh but I miss you more!" I lunge at him. He evades, grabbing a mustard bottle and squeezing its contents in my face. I wail, grabbing his hair and pulling its roots out. He shouts, kicking the back of my knee to make me fall.
"I will report you!" I cry, clinging to his leg as he tries to shrug me off and away. The mustard burns on my face.
"You don't even know my name!" He snaps back, pulling at my hair to throw me away. Darn girls and their obnoxiously long hair.
"Hah! So you accept that you faked your name?!" I exclaim, beyond elated. It was Me - 1 and Him - 0.
"Why do you even care?!" He twists his foot out of my grip. He is about to run, but I tackle him down to one of the tables.
We fall, with a loud thud, iron tables and chair crumbling down on us. I groan, with him on top of me, burdened with the weight of bad decisions. There's a whole table leg stabbing his back and when I look up, he doesn't opens his eyes.
"H-hey you," I mumble, with as much energy as I can pull out of my weighed stomach. "Are you o-okay?" He does not responds. Did I kill him? I don't feel the pain as much as I feel the cold wave of sweat overtaking my limbs and the awful feeling of dread making my heart beat slower.
I killed a side character.
Just then, the door is pushed open and in walks someone who says, "You're under arrest!"
Hm, guess who?