The rain fell on the small town of Charleston. The “Turtle Diner” sign flickered in the dark, folk sat, clutching their mugs of coffee staring at the water that fell in abundance from the sky. A woman stood behind the ancient cash register, curlers in her orange hair, coffee pot in hand and a cigarette protruding from the corner of her mouth. Her face was caked with make-up and her soiled apron showed signs of this. She scuffed her mock ruby slippers on the linoleum and extinguished her camel in an ashtray on the counter.

“Victor? You hear the forecast for Tuesday?” She called in a hoarse voice across the small trailer. The man, whose name was Victor scowled, shrugged and hid further behind his newspaper that was dated from three days prior.

A boy at the far side of the store inserted a quarter into the jukebox, which immediately began playing Kenney Loggins. The little boy pivoted to face the waitress who grimaced with distaste at the boy’s musical taste. He smiled in mock happiness and trotted over to the stool where he sat.

“Large malt with whip” the boy said, clearly a recipient of allowance payment. The boy glanced at a glass case on the far wall. “And also a slice of that Boston cream.”

The waitress glared at him but did his bidding when he retrieved a crisp five spot from his pocket. The boy removed his smile and noted the room blankly. He balled his hand on the table absentmindedly before fidgeting with a sugar packet from the small chrome container on the bar.

The woman, whose nametag read, “Hello, My Name Is Karen”, slide the pie and shake across the table and extended her hand for payment. He handed her the bill, which she clutched in her hand, walked to the register, and anchored under a saltshaker. He noted this. He sipped his malt and ate his pie and glanced up at the small plaque on the kitchen door that stated, “ At Turtles Diner, We Are Always Friendly!” The boy suppressed a snort.

He picked the last crumb off his plate and slid the dishes across the bar for later disposal. He stood and walked to the register where Karen stood, smoking again.

“You may want to enforce or reform that plaque,” he said pointing. She whirled around, her back facing him. He took advantage and inconspicuously slipped his five from under the saltshaker into his pocket. He pretended innocent and when she came to face him, red faced, he smiled and exited the way he had come.