WRITING: Setting

The door screeched open and the stranger came in, stood there as the door whined its way shut. He waited for all the heads to turn back to their coffees before he aimed his path down the aisle to the empty booth on the far end of the diner. Each step beneath his boot was sticky where it wasn’t dust and grit brought in from the parking lot. He slid in along the cracked once blue plastic seat, feeling the tug of dried food on his jeans and the back of his shirt. It was his kind of place.

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