Re: Selina C/Jack P: the (bad) diner
"Whoever filled the vacancy? Might have a special place in their hearts for commercialism and middle-class housing." She chuckled when he winced at coffee grounds, and she shook her head when he said he told the town's truths. "I thought the entire point of journalism? Was to tell the stories people don't want told. Or did I get that wrong?" Again with that grin, the teasing one, the one that said there was an equal chance of her meaning what she said, as there was of her not meaning what she said. But she was flash and glitz. Glamour, even here, and this kind of woman didn't mind the spotlight, print or otherwise.
Living small, it was still something she was working on. Or, rather, it was something she was considering working on.
"You really think people care about grand re-openings?" She shook her head, deep brown and curls defiantly riotous now; she'd given up on sleek, no more hair smoothed down in the mornings, and no more slinky black in the evenings. "People care about gossip, and they always have. The world is full of rubberneckers. This place? No different. Ask your mother, and she'll tell you the same. You know, before you sell her."
His view of the holidays? That was even more cynical than hers, and she'd never had a Christmas worth remembering, and why would this place be any different? "Handsome?" This to the cook. "Get my new friend here a fresh toast, and I think he wants some of that new pot. On me." She had a feeling her diner companion? Wasn't a good tipper, and maybe he was too drunk to pay some days. Oh, he was hungover. Or he was so accustomed to drinking? That he always seemed hungover. Not that she held that against a person. Where she came from? Drinking was like breathing, and everyone needed something to get by.