Selina C/Jack P: the (bad) diner
Cat came to the bad side of town often. Her reasons were varied, and maybe it was all the New Jersey that was still in the newly-small-town Cat, but she couldn't avoid the darker part of sleepy Repose. Oh, she didn't come here during the daylight, because what was the point in that? And she just happened to still be here now, when breakfast rolled around.
As to what she'd been up to? She certainly hadn't been making sure the working girls in the trailer park, the ones not sanctioned and protected by the Hookerville borders, had condoms. She wasn't making sure the junkies sleeping out in the cold had clean needles and coats without holes. And she certainly wasn't scooping up a cat or two, bundling them up in her truck, and planning on leaving them at the tiny hospital before the veterinarian showed up for his weekly appointments.
She was doing none of those things.
No, see, she waltzed in, jeans so tight they could be painted, and her coat thick and black over more black. Gloves leather, which she tugged off with the grace of someone that knew the value of sex appeal, even when it came to revealing fingertips, and she pulled a woolen cap off snow-dotted and dark hair.
"Shows what you know." She slid up onto a stool at the counter, and she smiled at the commentator. The newspaper editor, and everyone knew everyone in this town. "Coffee, black, and some toast." Her smile was lush, like romancing the cook was all part of the day's plan. And it was early. "I would say I'm surprised to find you here, but seeing as you live in the seedy motel? I'm not surprised at all. Does the newspaper pay terribly?"