Patricia
The diner is old school with red booths and posters of classic cars on the walls. There is a neon sign outside, glowing from its height, and everyone working here is confident. There is a certain swag and shake to the hips as a waitress comes up to our table. I like it.
"Are you ready to order?" The lady is standing there, smiling while holding up a sketchbook rather than an Ipad.
"Yes," Dior flashes a killer smile, and I roll my eyes at the blush growing on the woman's cheeks. "I would like to have the bacon and eggs and a large cola. Oh, and with a side of fries."
"Lovely," The woman, who must be more than twenty years older than Dior, has been reduced to a giggling mess. "And what does your friend like to order?"
I glance up from my menu, smiling. "I want the strawberry an
