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Set your story in a roadside diner.

Posted in Dystopian on Oct 25, 2022

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✍️ 59 stories

Little Casanova Town Diner

Submitted to Contest #110

I watched the downpour pound away at the old gas pumps through the window. They were already rusted from however many years they’ve stood there, barely covered by the awning hanging overhead. Must have been about seventy years by now. My chin resting on my palm, I sighed into the silence of Little Casanova Town Diner, just outside the town. “Nice weather out there,” called a voice a few rotating stools away. I turned around to look at the young man with pretty, silver hair and a kind smile. A dark silver, almost like he was going gray despit...

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Joel's Diner

Submitted to Contest #110

CW: abortion On Saturday nights, the diner gets busy just after 9:00 p.m. I don’t mind it. It helps keep my mind off things—things like unopened bills, unanswered texts, unreturned phone calls. “Say Billy, I’m ready to order,” rasps the grizzled old man, raising a finger to get my attention. Typical of Fort Worth, he always wears a cowboy hat and belt buckle the size of a salad plate. I trot over. “Let me guess. You want chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, no green beans, and extra gravy?” I take the menu from him, a menu he...

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Off the Road

Shortlisted for Contest #110 ⭐️

“My father worked on the lorries. His checked shirt billowed gingham; his sod-brown arm lugged snug at window. He'd fit the coupling to the trailer, hugging the waggon cab close as a babe in arms. An expert. His white arm aiding brown to steer the great wheel tight and right; his eye narrowed and angled at the road, mapping the route exactly - back to Shropshire hills. We pestered on the plastic passenger seat; we even slipped sometimes from the polished cab. Sometimes he drove us on his lap in these days before Health and Safety, preten...

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Death Comes to Maxie's

Submitted to Contest #110

I guess I should have known things were going to go badly when the milk curdled. I been coming to Maxie’s for my coffee for more than 40 years, and I never got curdled milk before. But there, I added my sugar, two spoons, stirred it up and picked up the little cow-shaped cream pitcher and poured and it all sat sickly white and lumpy in my cup. Depressing, that. Waste a good coffee. It was Wednesday, so that means Wilma was working, except it wasn’t Wilma at all. It was some new girl with blonde curls who kept looking at the phone she was hol...

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Nothing Ever Happens Here

Submitted to Contest #110

“Orders up!” yelled the big guy in the kitchen. He began ringing the tiny silver bell over and over. “Alright, I got to go. Work is kicking my ass right now. Just make sure Lori gets to her appointment on time. Love you,” I said, carefully placing the phone down. I tiptoed out of my bosses office and made sure to leave the door cracked just as I’d found it. Swiftly making my way down the hall, letting the tips of my fingers feather the edges of old photos of the James family living their legacy. This was the family dream. To soothe the st...

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Dreams of Living

Submitted to Contest #110

Sal’s Diner stuck out of the desert like an ice cream cone discarded on the beach. A ragged border where asphalt met sand marked three sides of the lot. The fourth side joined the interstate. Two ancient gas pumps faced the road, nauseous with rust. Inside, 50s and 60s memorabilia cluttered the walls, and the jukebox played non-stop rock and roll. A sign behind the bar advertised ‘Real American Lemonade’. Sal, the owner, was full of wild ideas. One of his more outlandish schemes had the employees on roller skates while they waited table...

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The Meeting

Submitted to Contest #110

She arrived at the diner thirty minutes early. It was like he had said—long, narrow and like an old railroad car with all the windows. The faded sign proclaimed it to be Bubba’s Diner.  Stacie sat in her car and attempted to come up with a reason to leave. There was none. At none that would hold water anyway. She had parked near the road to make it easy to leave.  The diner was half way between where they lived. Trey Blackman. His picture showed a handsome man who seemed sad. They had been talking to each other on the phone through...

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hand in hand in the diner

Submitted to Contest #110

           As a matter of a habit shared with many in town, he pulls off the road, and into the always occupied parking lot at a place known locally as ‘the diner’. It looks a lot like the famous painting “Nighthawks’ from the 1940s, with nearly wall to wall, floor to ceiling windows, but it is almost always crowded, not the nearly empty lonely diner of the painting. And it is early afternoon light. He had a quick and unsatisfying breakfast, and is hungry now.   ...

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A Greasy Spoon Interlude

Submitted to Contest #110

A Greasy Spoon Interlude Georgia tucked into her mixed grill with gusto; I had always envied her appetite. It was mid-July and hot as hell. The diner was by the roadside of interstate 55, a lot of miles from everywhere. I had met Georgia in college, where she was taking a master’s in veterinary studies, and I was majoring in biology. I loved her from the moment I set eyes on her. She walked straight up to me, introduced herself, and asked me my name. From that day forward, she insisted on calling me Abi-normal instead of the usual “Gale-f...

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The Unseen Four at Mattie's Diner

Submitted to Contest #110

The Unseen Four at Mattie’s Diner “We have long known it would come to this.” “True.” “Why now?” The three paused their conversation, unspoken syllables hanging in the air between them, invisible to Mattie as she walked by to top off coffee at another table, cast them a quick glance reassuring herself they didn’t need refills, and returned to the counter of the diner. Though their projected appearance was innocuously, humanly non-descript, they saw each other as they truly were: a Kelpie water spirit with devilish horns atop her pale, h...

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Most Nights

Submitted to Contest #110

Most nights, Eleanor Robin manned the counter of Lazy Night Diner with a cigarette in one hand and a flask full of vodka and orange juice by her hip. Of course, it was strictly against protocol for any employee of the diner to be drinking on the job, but her own boss Clyde Wilkins was such a boozer that she could smell the whiskey on his breath the moment he’d hired her. He was rarely in - always with some excuse about his car, his home, or his wife, and he was never in during the night. Since Eleanor exclusively worked the night shift, she ...

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Under the Overpass

Submitted to Contest #110

“Like another refill?” the pretty waitress offered, leaning over to pour before waiting for an answer. She was young, but had been waiting tables for two years and knew a customer like this guy would sit here drinking refills till the next meal time rolled around, if management would allow it.            Albert nodded his shaggy head and smiled up into her blue eyes and midwestern friendliness.            “What’s your name, honey?” h...

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Renewed Spontineity

Submitted to Contest #110

“What’ll you have handsome?" The waitress asking me smiles. She appears to be in her late sixties, blue eye shadow solidified into deep crevices making her eyelids look like a slightly schizophrenic map for some uncharted backcountry. I stare at her for a moment, wondering if I might recognize her before responding, “Something different. I’m in a rut, a holding pattern if you will, and I need to try new things. Typically, I would order the meatloaf so surprise me,” I say before adding, “oh, and a coke too please.” “Well, we don’t get t...

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Lady Luck

Submitted to Contest #110

WARNING! CONTAINS SOME COARSE LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE & SEXUAL REFERENCES. Lady Luck By Clyde Laffan     Danny had never hitchhiked before. Neither had Will, and it was his idea. One he would regret until his dying day, which was not too far off.  The two laid in bed, planning their move to Hollywood. Will was excited about hitchhiking; "We'll just be like Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy from On The Road." "I don't know who they are," his boyfriend lied. Danny lacked Will's enthusiasm. He picked up his phone and s...

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Fuzzy Dice

Submitted to Contest #110

Fuzzy Dice The sky looks like it was touched by Claude Monet, the faint brush strokes of the colours of the sunset. His artwork of nature and executing his view point enthrals me to join a painting class every Thursday evening.  I hope that the sight will bring inspiration during tonight’s class. The drive after work is across the city calms my nerves after a long day. I try to focus on the illusions of shadows and colour during my drive to free me of the days stressors. After class I feel refreshed and so happy that I joined the clas...

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