![]() Every other knife in the diner has been plunged into the cook’s back. She kneels amidst the carnage, clutching a knife. Only one remains now, a girl in a red and white waitresses uniform straight out of 50s Americana. Bodies lay strewn about, blood and gore stain the walls. The quiet diner has taken on the aspect of a nightmare. “Ugh, but what if he’s still mad about last time?! I can’t deal with him yelling at me again! What do you guys think?” she asks, sighing, turning to the other patrons of the diner. If he’s calling me back to the city, it must be serious…” Abruptly, her voice takes on a whiny tone. ![]() After a while, she speaks aloud, concerned. With a sigh, she stares up at the ceiling fan. She finds herself where many a trucker and weary traveller rest along the long roads through the Mojave Desert. An Asian woman with cropped bleached hair leans forward in her seat in a diner booth, staring at her cellphone.
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