“Whe… where am I? Ugh, my head is… is pounding,” was all Thomas could say upon waking in the booth of a small diner. “Ugh, hello! Hello, is anybody here?” was his first question to the empty restaurant. Thomas looked out the window and saw the sun just starting to set, or so he thought it was setting. “Man, how long’ve I been out?” He stood up and stretched. As it started getting darker outside, he realized that he must have been in the diner for at least a day. The last thing he remembered was driving into town the night before, but how he ended up here alone, he had no idea.

            Thomas walked behind the counter and looked through the opening into the kitchen, but no one was there. “Hello,” he yelled, but no response. He looked back and forth throughout the diner. The counter had a glass top that shined in what little sun light was left to hit it. There was a newspaper at the end of the counter that looked like it had already been read, it was folded in half in a neat pile. Along the windows, booths were set side by side. Most of the tables were cleaned off with the exception of a couple, both of which had a couple of plates that were only half eaten and a few glasses. The seats were all red leather or at least a leather imitation. Some had holes, probably from cigarette burns, and others had small stains on them. The chairs at the counter were all pushed in. From the looks of the almost gone pie in the dish just in front of him, this was a fairly busy place. He looked under the counter and saw a half filled bus tub. The milk that was left in the glass was more than half way to cheese by now. A strong odor was coming from just under the top layers of plates.

            Thomas walked over to the end of the counter and picked up the paper. The date was August 19, 2005. It was a paper from last week. “Well, that doesn’t help me. Where is everybody?” His stomach growled, reminding him of when the last time he ate was. He decided to cook some bacon and eggs.

            As he walked back into the kitchen, he tripped on a stick. He hit the floor hard, but the rubber mats meant to prevent slipping, saved him from a sure bruised kneecap. He looked back and saw that the stick he tripped on wasn’t a stick, it was a shotgun. The owners of this place must not trust people. Oh well, I guess it might come in handy if need be, was what he was thinking.

            He looked in the refrigerator and found a box of eggs and a package of bacon and brought them to the griddle. While they were cooking he went and poured himself a glass of orange juice. The date on the bottle had been expired for about a week now. Guess I’ll have to call food management on these people. He laughed at his own joke. Even past its prime, the juice was still good, especially for his parched mouth. He picked up a plate and put his food onto it then went and sat at the counter.

            Thomas looked at the clock and saw that it was getting close to 7:00. The sun was down, but it was still light outside. The wind howled and it spooked him because it was the first sound of life he’d heard since he woke up. He finished his dinner and got up to stretch.