I pulled into the parking lot. There were two restaurants. One where I knew I would have a good meal. But it would be empty.
And another where I would feel at home. One with warmth and a long diner counter. One filled with other lost souls with desolate hearts and interesting tales. One I’ve been to many times. Always with the temptation that the meal will be delicious, fresh and unique.
I walk in and people are sitting next to each other near the door, talking. I walk past them going down to an empty seat at the far left hand side. A part of the atmosphere, but alone, lonely. It’s the seat I usually choose. I long for touch and words but here, always, I choose a seat alone, apart.
There is a massive menu, with mouthwatering choices. Blueberry pancakes, country bacon, eggs, coffee for the smell and soda to drink. There is a bakery and pastry shop. It is a place I could be for awhile, just reading. But I never do.
I never order here, sometimes there is an empty plate that I don’t remember eating from. Sometimes I order, and wait and wait, the order never coming. Eventually, I leave. I leave the warmth and the feeling of home. I leave and feel more empty than when I arrived. Another reoccurring stop in my dreamscape.