A SKETCH STORY

THE DINER

The flashing pink neon in the window, distorted from the rain sliding down the glass pane in rivulets and dripping off the concrete sill onto the dirty sidewalk where only hours earlier a hopeless person had ejected his whiskey fumed sputum, winked on and off

OPEN ALL NIGHT

inviting all the midnight classes of society to enter and perhaps, in this tiny establishment, be warmed, fed, find conversation or hope.

OPEN ALL NIGHT

it flashed, and the door to the dreary, dimly lit table-filled room, the door with its old sleigh bells draped side-to-side across the glass to alert those inside of an entry, opened and shut, letting out the scent of warm, energizing coffee, bringing in the wet hopefuls, rain dripping from clothing, wet shoes tracking dirt and street oil on to the linoleum covered floor between the tables near the window, and the counter.

OPEN ALL NIGHT

the neon flashed from behind as well, its electric wires running in a haphazard, flyspecked highway around and under the smooth, gas-filled letters, falling abruptly toward the baseboard, sucking its life from the dirty yellow power outlet that showed dried signs of mop-splashing in some distant past.

OPEN ALL NIGHT

the neon flashed, even as the sun began to rise bringing with it gentle winds that pushed the rain away, and light to the darkened streets.  Abruptly the pink disappeared, the flashing ceased, and the grey-white of the now dormant neon waits on hold until the day  finishes  its business, the sun once again sleeps, and the sidewalk will glow pink and dark, pink and dark...

OPEN ALL NIGHT