This is where things started getting interesting for Frank started to get up from the chair, only we realized that he was loosely holding a gun. But he looked straight at us, cocky with a little swagger in his step.
"So this is what we're going to do," he said, finally lighting the cigarette that had been dangling cold from his thin lips and taking a long drag. "We're all going to take a ride, see?" He gestured limply with the gun toward his car outside the diner. I grabbed Cindy's hand and squeezed it, hoping it felt reassuring, and we made our way to the door. The other diners were all completely still, one man with his fork halfway to his open mouth and the sizzle of hamburgers on the grill was suddenly very loud. We and Frank were the only things alive, the only things not frozen in time.
Outside, Frank gestured again to his car, a monstrous black thing from the seventies that could have hosted a party in its back seat. Frank threw me the keys.
"You're driving. Honey, you're sitting in the middle." He moved around to the passenger side and slid in, the gun still trained on us, but almost like an after though. But there was no doubt in my mind, if we tried anything, we'd be dead. The car roared and everyone in the diner jumped, and I could hear a few meek screams.
"Take us into downtown," Frank said, and we started to head down the highway, still wet from the afternoon's rain, the street lamps casting a messy glow over our path.
Frank rolled down his window then leaned over and turned on the radio. Leonard Cohen was growling some song I didn't know. Cindy was pressed hard against me but kept her eyes on the gun. I kept glancing from the road to Frank who was staring at Cindy; I caught him licking his lips, and my hands almost jerked the wheel to just drive us into the next building at full speed. My foot pressed the accelerator just to get this ride over with.
"Hey, take it easy, friend," said Frank. "Getting the cops on us would be a damned bad idea."
"Where are we going?" Cindy asked.
"Honey, we're going to a party. Take a left at the light, friend."
I took the turn beneath the blinking red light and realized we were headed toward a part of town made up of mostly abandoned warehouses and old industrial plants. Tom Waits broke in after Cohen. It seems so stupid, but at that moment I hated Frank because he made even Waits, who I love, seem threatening and awful at that moment. Broken windows and graffiti were a common decorative motif of the buildings, and every few doorways or so, one would catch the huddled mass of a body, sleeping or dead. The buildings got larger, and spaced further and further apart, separated by weeds and long grasses, broken chain-link fences with rusted barbed wire.
"So this is what we're going to do," he said, finally lighting the cigarette that had been dangling cold from his thin lips and taking a long drag. "We're all going to take a ride, see?" He gestured limply with the gun toward his car outside the diner. I grabbed Cindy's hand and squeezed it, hoping it felt reassuring, and we made our way to the door. The other diners were all completely still, one man with his fork halfway to his open mouth and the sizzle of hamburgers on the grill was suddenly very loud. We and Frank were the only things alive, the only things not frozen in time.
Outside, Frank gestured again to his car, a monstrous black thing from the seventies that could have hosted a party in its back seat. Frank threw me the keys.
"You're driving. Honey, you're sitting in the middle." He moved around to the passenger side and slid in, the gun still trained on us, but almost like an after though. But there was no doubt in my mind, if we tried anything, we'd be dead. The car roared and everyone in the diner jumped, and I could hear a few meek screams.
"Take us into downtown," Frank said, and we started to head down the highway, still wet from the afternoon's rain, the street lamps casting a messy glow over our path.
Frank rolled down his window then leaned over and turned on the radio. Leonard Cohen was growling some song I didn't know. Cindy was pressed hard against me but kept her eyes on the gun. I kept glancing from the road to Frank who was staring at Cindy; I caught him licking his lips, and my hands almost jerked the wheel to just drive us into the next building at full speed. My foot pressed the accelerator just to get this ride over with.
"Hey, take it easy, friend," said Frank. "Getting the cops on us would be a damned bad idea."
"Where are we going?" Cindy asked.
"Honey, we're going to a party. Take a left at the light, friend."
I took the turn beneath the blinking red light and realized we were headed toward a part of town made up of mostly abandoned warehouses and old industrial plants. Tom Waits broke in after Cohen. It seems so stupid, but at that moment I hated Frank because he made even Waits, who I love, seem threatening and awful at that moment. Broken windows and graffiti were a common decorative motif of the buildings, and every few doorways or so, one would catch the huddled mass of a body, sleeping or dead. The buildings got larger, and spaced further and further apart, separated by weeds and long grasses, broken chain-link fences with rusted barbed wire.
