Amaryllis
Stay’s Diner was obviously the hot spot in town. It was currently packed with people for breakfast, some appearing to stop in for a meal after a night shift at the local factory, others swinging by before starting their morning shifts. The Diner had an old feel to it, Rorick saying it was a fifties style, as we sat at our booth and waited for our food to be brought out. There was black and white tile on the floor with the tables' white linoleum with aluminum boarders. The barstools were red leather with an old jukebox playing. Rorick was leaning back in the booth, eyes always scanning the crowd on high alert, even though his body was completely relaxed.
How long do you think we can stay here? I asked. Rorick’s eyes glanced at me for only a moment.
“Possibly a week, maybe two.
