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If we were to have coffee, I’d want it to be at a quaint coffee shop. It would be one of those places off the main drag that probably only has about ten to fifteen tables scattered around within its four walls. However, Jacqui asked if I could change locations. She gets bored easy. Today we’re having coffee at a diner on the main strip that goes through the middle of my town. The name above the entrance is Sisterhood Diner. Men are most assuredly welcome too.
(Your dialogue is in purple. My dialogue is in green.)
The diner has been here for years. It used to be considered on the outskirts of the downtown area, but not anymore. The parking lot needs resurfacing again. The potholes are getting harder and harder to miss.
Inside things look pretty much the same as they always have. I’m not sure how they’ve kept the linoleum looking so clean but it still shines. The color on the walls has changed from the light peach to a light, almost white, sea blue. Forget about looking for a booth. The three sisters who own the place have never put them in. We take a table against the front windows. There’s paper placemats laid out with silverware wrapped in paper napkins.
What can I get for you today, ladies?
The woman is probably in her sixties, trim, and dressed in dark blue jeans and a pink t-shirt.
Do you, by chance, have flavored creamer?
Sorry, we don’t. Want regular?
I’ll take it black. Thanks anyway. And I’ll take one of those sourdough rolls.
I’ll have the same. Could you bring more sugar packs to the table?
With the ordering out of the way, we sit back and sign in unison.
Did I tell you my neighbor, Mr. Hayes died day before yesterday?
I shake my head as I watch the woman come over with our order. She loads up the little basket with the sugar packs before she leaves. She’s good at this. She saw us in conversation and didn’t interrupt.
The funeral is tomorrow. I’m still trying to decide if I’m going or just sending a plant. I refuse to send flowers. They just wilt and die. If I send a plant, maybe they’ll plant it or at least keep it watered in their house.
I like the plant idea too. They eventually die too but they do have a longer life span. Wasn’t he the man who gave you the marigolds?
I take a sip of coffee finally. Not too bad without the creamer. After adding the sugar to your mug, you smile as you sip.
Yes, he was the one. Maybe I’ll make a small plaque for those flowers. It’s sad that he’s gone. Do you believe in life after death? I don’t know if I do or not.
Yes, I think there’s life after death, although I’m not a religious person by any means. Plants “die” each fall and come to life each spring. Although I’m not sure about reincarnation, there’s no reason why we can’t come to life again on another plane of some sort.
So you’re saying you believe in ghosts?
I guess they could be called that–or maybe spirits of people. It’s difficult to explain without bringing in the religious aspect, which I definitely don’t want to do.
Why not? It’s one of the cultural elements of being human.
It’s created by humans to serve humans as they think they see as being fitting. In doing so, I think human miss out on the mysteries of life. There all around us, yet no one pays attention. Looking at all other life around me, there isn’t anyway I can believe this life is all there is. What’s beyond it, I haven’t a clue, but I think it’s out there just the same.
The roll is wonderful. It doesn’t need jam or jelly, just a little butter. Judging from the look on your face, you agree. I hale the waitress/owner.
Can we get refills?
Sure, just a minute.
Waiting for the coffee, we watch to clouds roll in. They’re heavy and dark, threatening a downpour.
Do we stay or go?
We stay. Coffee is coming.
I think I’ll go tomorrow. I owe it to him. I’m not all that religious either but I do believe in keeping the culture going.
The clouds don’t bring much moisture. Most of it is in that heavy humidity that hangs in the air making everything feel sluggish.
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A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are. ~George Meredith