Re: Log, Gotham: Holly R/Jim G
The holidays were looming—Chanukah had already begun, and Christmas Eve was a week away—so charity, if that's what she wanted to call it, could be bookended into the Christmas spirit without much extra effort. Jim wasn't expecting anything in return for the kindness, besides what he'd already gotten: for her to give back the groceries. So he fell in step with the girl—Holly—in the purple boots and he knew her name. 'You have two first names?' Long shot, but a shot.
He nodded at her mention of pancakes and walked them in the direction of a chrome-and-teal diner, grimy with oil and years of smoke, but with good food and even better coffee. It was a little place Harvey had shown him, a greasy spoon he frequented.
He wasn't sure if it would still be there, or if that was one of the little details that had been reworked by some invisible hand (and a lot of them were. Change enough small things and you got something much different than what you started with). But, after a short walk, maybe half a block, the dented sign flickered into view, buzzing on in the early dusk.
Inside, it was small, formica in patterns people liked to call 'retro', checkerboard floor, the walls oily with dust and fingerprints, but it was warm and it was sparse and Jim sat on one of the red-topped stools at the bar. He leaned into his elbows, ordering a coffee, black, from the woman whose plastic name-tag read Christie.
When she was gone, Jim turned to look at Holly.
"So this is over the rainbow." She finally got a smile, dry as hell, but it was there.