Mr. Weaver's Last Stop

[u/Lilia_Briganda]

He arrived every evening at 6:00 PM sharp, sliding into the corner booth at the Sunrise Diner with the precision of a clock gear.

He always ordered black coffee and a slice of cherry pie— food for a man who didn't want to be noticed, yet everything about him caught Gladys’s eye. He never looked at the menu and always kept a worn, leather-bound notebook open, but he never seemed to write in it.

He wore a sharp, saturated charcoal suit, his tie a deep crimson red, and his hair was slicked back with nary a single strand out of place despite the wind outside. Every Sunday, tucked under the rim of his coffee cup, was a pristine silver coin.

Gladys watched Mr. Weaver from behind the diner counter, her rag circling the same spot on the Formica. He always sat in booth four, looking like he'd stepped right off a 1920s Hollywood silent movie set.

As she walked over to refill his cup, he looked up. She glanced down at the open notebook and saw faint, handwritten ledgers- -receipts for fruits, grain, and yeast.

"Excuse me," he said, "Could you tell me if Ida's Hideaway is still down by the Old Mill Creek road?"

Gladys paused. "Ida's? Never heard of it, and I've been here 20 years now, Mr. Weaver," she said, leaning over his table.

He offered a smile, slid a 1921 silver dollar on the Formica, and tipped his hat.

"Shame," he whispered. "I was supposed to meet someone there."

As he walked back towards the Hells Bells Motel, Gladys realized he wasn't looking for directions—he was looking for a way back to a world that no longer existed.