Two at the Diner
ACT I The diner was on the corner of a street that had a name and a history and nobody who cared about either of them anymore, and Ray sat in his usual booth—the one by the window that had a crack in the laminate the shape of a river that didn't exist—staring at a plate of eggs that had been sitting there long enough to develop their own weather system. He was forty-two, and he had been...
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