My Diner

Somewhere along the way, I took a few wrong or right turns and ended up in the one part of town I avoid the most. The desperate need for a cup of coffee and a clouded mind landed me among the stars. I walked around Hollywood, barefoot with heels in hand, dodging glances. Human interaction was the last thing I wanted. A quarter till 1 a.m., and I wondered how the hell I made if from Wilshire and Union, all the way to Hollywood on foot. Through influenced thoughts and hazy eyes, I looked up and saw the bright blue letters. You always did say my name would be in lights. I'm not quite sure this is what either of us imagined. Let's not kid ourselves though, we both know this is as close as I'll get to seeing that. Five deep breaths later, I forced myself to walk through the diner's doors. The server with the dead eyes stopped me at the entrance.
"You'll have to put those on, if you plan on coming any further." She saw the confusion on my face, then pointed to the heels in my hand.
"Oh, yes, of course," I mumbled, an awkward amount of seconds later.
She looked me up and down as I struggled to keep my balance while putting on the heels. I saw the judgement on her face. Dressed the way I was, at 1 a.m., on a Tuesday, I don't blame her. I'd be assuming things too. I took a booth near the window and ordered a cup of coffee. She poured me a cup and I asked her to leave the pot. I took a few long sips waiting for her to walk away so that I could reach in to the side seam pocket of my dress, and take out the small flask and pen I always carry. I caught the very attractive redhead starring at me as I poured cheap bourbon into the coffee. I took a sip and held his gaze for a few seconds, before turning away and looking out the window. Holding on to the cup of coffee for dear life, I looked around and took in the history of the diner. That's when the tiredness of all the walking hit me. My feet were aching and my head was spinning. At that point, I did the only thing I could do. Write. I grabbed a napkin from the table and started writing away. The redhead took a seat across from me, three scrawled on napkins later. The only reason I didn't tell him to fuck off, was that I realized that I had left my wallet back at the office. Someone needed to pay for the coffee. There was also no way in hell that I was walking back home.
"Miss, you look like..."
"I look like..."
"You seem lost."
"Aren't we all?" I said with a smile in my eyes.
"Got a name?"
I said nothing and simply pointed to the sign outside.
"You're kidding."
"It's nearly two a.m., I don't have the sense of humor to kid around at this hour."
He could tell he was sinking quickly.
"So what are you writing there?"
"Nothing of importance," I answered, slipping the napkins in my pocket.
I poured more bourbon in my half empty cup. I knew that if I wanted a ride, I'd have to tone it down.
He ended up paying for the tab, a couple of dozen questions later. The second I saw the 1970 Mach 1, I told him I was driving. I took the keys out of his hands before he could answer. I'm not a Ford girl. Though, I'll admit, she handled beautifully. We made it to my place by three a.m, he left at five, and I still made it in to work by seven. I never did ask his name. It's just easier that way.
It was no accident that I walked over seven miles to see my name in lights that night. You somehow led me there, knowing it'd do me good. Stumbling across that diner was a sign. It gave me just the right amount of false hope that I needed.