Last Night at the Last Chance Diner
Copyright© 2019 by Number 7
Chapter 6
The Last Day
11:00:01 p.m.
The neon that outlined the diner took a few seconds to respond after the loss of power, then flickered back into service. The darkness probably lasted between four and eight seconds, depending upon whom you asked.
At the Last Chance, diners had barely realized they were in the dark before battery- powered emergency lighting had come on, only to be quickly replaced by the restored power supply. In the Last Chance Diner, one digital appliance flashed 12:00. It flashed steadily. Almost like a warning.
The counter timer served to remind the wait staff of how long food sat on the pass through, from the kitchen before it was picked up and delivered to the table.
It was a fifties style diner, complete with jukebox and faded, framed photos of old cars, old movie stars, and old menus. People who loved the Last Chance Diner did so in large part because it never changed. They could depend on old-fashioned ambiance and sensible meals. The patrons on that last night were the same patrons who filled it every other night.
“I thought it might be the end of the world coming,” proclaimed the cook, noticing the flashing numerals and inadvertently starting another rousing debate about the history of the Last Chance.
“You know that 2012 nonsense.” That drew a laugh and some unkind commentary about the Mayans and those who believed the story.
“If it is the end, I want a ringside seat,” shouted one diner, as he paid his check, left a stingy tip, buttoned his coat, and got ready to face the storm. “Nothing like a little excitement to top off a truly terrible meal.”
“Thanks, Matty,” he shouted to the cook. “If I get food poisoning AND the end of the world on the same night, I might set some kind of record. Don’t you think?”
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