The Weight of Silence and the Cold Steel Residing in the Shadows of the Diner
CHAPTER 1: THE GEOMETRY OF THE BOOTH “You should move now, old man. This seat is mine.” The words cut through the low, jagged hum of the diner’s overhead fluorescent tubes like a blade dragged across concrete. The air in the room died instantly. At the midground booths, the clatter of silverware against cheap porcelain…