“I mean, come on,” he said, scanning the diner. “How would you react if you realized you were talking to a cup of coffee?”
“That is a little strange, Jenkis.”
Jenkis sighed and pushed back his scraggly hair with a shaky hand. His friend sat calmly across from him, staring patiently in his direction. The two were a stark contrast, sitting quietly in the corner booth of the busy room.
His friend’s voice was warm and soothing.
“What’s wrong? It’s okay, you can talk to me. I'm your friend.”
Jenkis shifted in his seat and loosened his tie. His friend understood.
“The investigation... Not going so well, eh?”
“No,” Jenkis laughed wearily. “It’s not.”
Just then, the waitress appeared like a sunbeam on a cloudy day. Her black hair was in a bun, with a few strands draping across her cheeks - a frame for her sweet smile and big blue eyes. The eggs and hash browns were okay, but she was the real reason Jenkis found himself there every night.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked with a slight northern accent.
Jenkis smiled as his friend answered her with a friendly “no.”
“Thank you,” added Jenkis, sheepishly.
She winked at him and laid the check face-down on the table, turning back toward the kitchen. Jenkis followed her with his tired eyes as he quietly continued answering his friend’s inquiry.
“We can’t seem to catch up with this guy... or guys, whoever they are. Just when we think we know who it is, that person either winds up dead or we find clues pointing in a completely new direction.”
“She’s kind of cute,” his friend remarked, changing the subject.
Jenkis ignored him, carrying on with his train of thought.
“Six months running, and it’s getting a little old.”
“You’ve been trying for that long to get her number?” his friend interjected.
Jenkis chuckled as he climbed out of the booth.
“You’re such a jerk.”
“Hey, you’re the one talking to coffee cups!” his friend retorted playfully.
Jenkis paid the cashier and returned to leave a tip under his plate, as he did every night.
“See you tomorrow night,” Jenkis pitched absent-mindedly as he turned to leave.
“Generous as usual, eh Jenkis?” his friend offered as a final jest.
“Good night, Joe,” Jenkis called back over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
The cold city streets met him like a knife to the chest. The stench of fish and blood was a crass reminder of the life he left out on the sidewalk, like a dog, every night when he entered the diner. And every night, he would step back out to meet it and find it uglier, mangier, and more rabid than before.
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