PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
It’s still early, indigo just crawling up the sky, eating the stars. The diner feels secluded still in its bubble of light, its coffee and pancake fug.
The door opens. Merv Klitschko, greasy trapper hat pulled low, ear flaps creased at his shoulders cos the guy’s got no neck. He’s at the counter, just gets coffee which is weird. Merv’s a man of habit – bacon, eggs, waffles, maple syrup, every morning for the last fifteen years.
I look to see if it’s raining, cos something’s dripping from Merv’s coat, puddling round his boots.
Then I see what that something is.