Valdosta. 3:04am.

[Randy Carson]

Dead time. Nothing in town is open except the Waffle House. Waffle House never closes - not even for hurricanes.

A lone figure sits at a table staring out into the blackness of the night. Half a smoke in one hand...a coffee cup in the other.

A trucker exits the bathroom and slows as he passes the table. "Say, you look familiar...aren't you...?" An icy glare stops him in mid-sentence.

The seated man takes a final drag from his cigarette and grinds it out in the ashtray. Finally, he speaks. "I get that a lot."

"Yeah...I bet you do. Well, have a good evening." "You, too. Drive safe."

The waitress smiles knowingly to herself as the man turns back to the window.

 

[kg01]

.. but ....

 

[4shotB]

Dead time. Nothing in town is open except the Waffle House. Waffle House never closes - not even for hurricanes.

A lone figure sits at a table staring out into the blackness of the night. Half a smoke in one hand...a coffee cup in the other.

A trucker exits the bathroom and slows as he passes the table. "Say, you look familiar...aren't you...?" An icy glare stops him in mid-sentence.

The seated man takes a final drag from his cigarette and grinds it out in the ashtray. Finally, he speaks. "I get that a lot."

"Yeah...I bet you do. Well, have a good evening." "You, too. Drive safe."

The waitress smiles knowingly to herself as the man turns back to the window.

Somehow the mood in the room grew quite somber. The drunk in the corner sneezed into his coffee and hash browns. Wally, the chef who was celebrating 3 weeks of near sobriety, put down his worn copy of Penthouse magazine and went to the jukebox and unplugged it as the Counting Crows song about the smell of hospitals in the winter and all oysters without no pearls was playing on repeat. Trying to lighten the mood he quoted the line from the same song ..."maybe next year will be better than the last". Darlene, the waitress whose 4th husband was disabled and surviving inside an iron lung, at first just shivered. Then wept. The drunk drooled onto the table and then slumped over into sleep? A coma? The next dimension? The stranger just nodded and swept his cigarette ashes onto the floor. The irony of it all was not lost on our protagonist.

 

[awbuzz]

Somehow the mood in the room grew quite somber. The drunk in the corner sneezed into his coffee and hash browns. Wally, the chef who was celebrating 3 weeks of near sobriety, put down his worn copy of Penthouse magazine and went to the jukebox and unplugged it as the Counting Crows song about the smell of hospitals in the winter and all oysters without no pearls was playing on repeat. Trying to lighten the mood he quoted the line from the same song ..."maybe next year will be better than the last". Darlene, the waitress whose 4th husband was disabled and surviving inside an iron lung, at first just shivered. Then wept. The drunk drooled onto the table and then slumped over into sleep? A coma? The next dimension? The stranger just nodded and swept his cigarette ashes onto the floor. The irony of it all was not lost on our protagonist.

Good enough to post twice (now to be seen a third time...

 

[slugboy]

Somehow the mood in the room grew quite somber. The drunk in the corner sneezed into his coffee and hash browns. Wally, the chef who was celebrating 3 weeks of near sobriety, put down his worn copy of Penthouse magazine and went to the jukebox and unplugged it as the Counting Crows song about the smell of hospitals in the winter and all oysters without no pearls was playing on repeat. Trying to lighten the mood he quoted the line from the same song ..."maybe next year will be better than the last". Darlene, the waitress whose 4th husband was disabled and surviving inside an iron lung, at first just shivered. Then wept. The drunk drooled onto the table and then slumped over into sleep? A coma? The next dimension? The stranger just nodded and swept his cigarette ashes onto the floor. The irony of it all was not lost on our protagonist.

Somehow the mood in the room grew quite somber. The drunk in the corner sneezed into his coffee and hash browns. Wally, the chef who was celebrating 3 weeks of near sobriety, put down his worn copy of Penthouse magazine and went to the jukebox and unplugged it as the Counting Crows song about the smell of hospitals in the winter and all oysters without no pearls was playing on repeat. Trying to lighten the mood he quoted the line from the same song ..."maybe next year will be better than the last". Darlene, the waitress whose 4th husband was disabled and surviving inside an iron lung, at first just shivered. Then wept. The drunk drooled onto the table and then slumped over into sleep? A coma? The next dimension? The stranger just nodded and swept his cigarette ashes onto the floor. The irony of it all was not lost on our protagonist.

Jim Wintersmith wandered in and sat down at the counter. He’d had insomnia for years. Was it the chain smoking and drinking that had thrown off his body clock? His hair and beard were a mess because of his old helmet that he wore on his Harley. He didn’t have to worry too much about students during office hours; the ones that didn’t stay away because of his body odor stayed away because of his attitude. The ride on his hog was as close to taking a shower as he’d had this week. Later, he could work on his research, or fall asleep in his lab.

He wanted some ham. and hash browns. Maybe an omelet. Definitely another cigarette. Coffee tasted better with a cig.

Jim Wintersmith wandered in and sat down at the counter. He’d had insomnia for years.

Wait…
This all seemed familiar…

 

[kg01]

Somehow the mood in the room grew quite somber. The drunk in the corner sneezed into his coffee and hash browns. Wally, the chef who was celebrating 3 weeks of near sobriety, put down his worn copy of Penthouse magazine and went to the jukebox and unplugged it as the Counting Crows song about the smell of hospitals in the winter and all oysters without no pearls was playing on repeat. Trying to lighten the mood he quoted the line from the same song ..."maybe next year will be better than the last". Darlene, the waitress whose 4th husband was disabled and surviving inside an iron lung, at first just shivered. Then wept. The drunk drooled onto the table and then slumped over into sleep? A coma? The next dimension? The stranger just nodded and swept his cigarette ashes onto the floor. The irony of it all was not lost on our protagonist.

The context. The ambiance. What next? Surely these guys don't have the balls to bring ol' Wintersmith back from the dead ....

Jim Wintersmith wandered in and sat down at the counter.…