Lionel was snapping her mint gum. She blew it out as far as she could and then watched the elastic crack of it as it burst. She popped her gum in the same way people shot paintballs after their parent’s divorce, fast, hard, and with a grudge. Something grated just under the surface of her thoughts, digging it’s nails in and beckoning with the sweetest fingertips. Just one last one, it said, that’s always the best one.

She popped her gum again.

Lionel had told her mom that she could quit anytime she wanted to, but it turned out that addictive smoke filled with chemicals was very much addictive. She tried not to think about taking a cigarette break.

She leaned against the counter and eavesdropped on the cook’s latest podcast. Thank the lord he had switched to true crime dramas.-- even if they kept making her glance at the windows and think about bolting them shut.

“Alright, this is an interesting case Alice.” Lionel listened with half an ear, “it’s about a woman who swears a mountain lion-man broke into her condo and stole fifty thousand dollars. Can you believe it?”

The other podcaster made appropriate sounds of alarm.

“She wasn’t even supposed to be home that night, but she walked into her living room only to find what she calls a monster. She saw some yellow eyes in the dark, just eyes, and then teeth wi--”

Lionel jumped violently when the diner door chimed, startling her out of her contemplation of smoke and eyes in the dark. She looked up jerkily. A hunched, very muddy person stood in the doorway. Her short dusty brown hair was flattened in all directions and eyes downcast.

Lionel shot up her eyebrows, “the dirty girl.”

Her eyes flashed up and Lionel covered her mouth quickly. The girl’s shoulders slumped wearily, “I usually prefer Mia.” She rasped dryly, “But I suppose I’m flexible.”

Lionel hurried over to the kiosk with the menus; the stranger, Mia, was the first customer of Lionel’s shift that day. She stopped in place, opened her mouth, and then closed it again

Lionel straightened up, “Sorry.” She presented her best service-smile, “How are you doing today?” It seemed like a non-question, empty even, but Mia didn’t seem bothered.

She gave a slim smile, “hungry.”

“I can help with that,” Lionel turned on her heels, “Same booth?”

Mia lifted her head, “You remembered,” she squinted at Lionel’s nametag, “Hannah?” Her head tilted to the side, “Hannah today?”

Lionel shrugged, “Hannah today.” Mia followed her to the booth.

“I’ll be your server this morning,” she said slowly, “did you want to start off with anything to drink?”

Mia smiled slowly, “Water.” She said hoarsely, “more than one glass if possible.”

Lionel nodded briefly and then looked closely at the stranger, “Are . . . ” She frowned slightly, “are you alright?”

Mia looked up at her with something bruised and strange under her expression, “Nothing some pancakes can’t fix.” She said easily, “and maybe a name change I suppose, but you seem to have that covered.”

Lionel shrugged, “a girl needs a little variety.”

“I see,” Mia threaded a hand through her stray hairs, “Hannah and Xena though, claiming all the good ones. What does that leave me with?”

Lionel straightened up, “a girl who could use some eggs.”

“Yes,” she grinned, “very good. Though a bit of a mouthful, what about Gabrielle? Or Lucy. Short for Lucifer,” she chuckled to herself, “now there’s some variety.”

What a strange person, Lionel noted, but she worked at a 24-hour diner close to a highway, she was well aware the world was filled with strange people.

“Even Lucifer needs water.” She said and turned, “I’ll be right back.”

Lionel filled up two glasses of water in the kitchen. The cook, Robby, was still in the middle of his podcast, but he looked up to examine Mia through his kitchen window. “Wait,” Mike squinted, “is that the one that ordered all that food a day ago?” He frowned, “she smelled bad then too.”

Lionel rolled her eyes, “it’s not that bad. Maybe you’re thinking of that egg lady from two months ago, remember? That woman with all those rotten eggs in her purse.”

The cook snorted and responded pointedly, “Nanc kicked her out you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she turned, “just start up the grill. I have a feeling it will be a big order.”

“She doesn’t even have shoes on!” He grumbled, “do you have a softer heart than I thought or is this some sort of side-effect of you quitting? I told ya, it’ll do stuff to your head.”

She used her hip to open the kitchen door, “let’s both quit. I’ll start with smoking, and you start with bitching.”

“I swear Li . . . ” He continued grumbling and Lionel walked back over to her table, the girl was stacking sugar pockets on top of each other. She had already eaten three it looked like.

“Here you are,” Lionel placed the water down and took her notepad out of her apron. “Now,” she clicked her pen, “what’ll it be today?”

The girl looked up from under her tousled bangs, “I’ll start with the French toast breakfast and a grand slam steak, and then two eggs, and some hash browns. Then add a side of biscuits and gravy and a fruit bowl with yogurt.”

Lionel gave a wry grin, “is that all?”

Mia rose to meet the challenge and shook her head, “No.” She looked up, “I’m thinking a banana crepe as well or maybe those honey cakes. Which do you recommend?” She asked the last part slowly.

“Huh,” Lionel stuck her bottom lip out, “well, I’ve never had either,” she said honestly, “but my dog’s name is Honey Cakes. So, you know.”

“Really?” She lifted her chin up, “Honey Cakes. What kind of dog is she?” Mia examined her and Lionel shifted in place uncertainly.

“A Collie mix,” she gave a faint smile, “a pain in my ass, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world. Best damn dog this side of the Appalachians.” She looked back to Mia, “do you . . . like dogs?”

Mia looked off at the ceiling and high fluorescent lights, “not really.” She said evenly, “but Honey Cakes is a very good name. I’ll have those.”

Lionel clicked her pen again, “I’ll get them right out for you.” She felt like she had something more to say, but it didn’t come to her. She retreated into the kitchen.

She handed the order over to the cook, “here.”

He looked down at it with a scowl, “Oh. Is that all? Three entrees and four sides?”

She shrugged, “she implied she might be the devil.”

Robby turned to give her a firm look, “then don’t associate with that type, Jesus girl!”

Lionel looked away, “I’ll associate with who I like. She tips well.”

That was the end of that conversation, just as Robby went back to complaining and a new trucker walked in the front door. Lionel finished the hour.

Mia maintained her tradition, she ate quickly, paid, and slipped out the door without another word. There was a second doodle on the receipt this time, it was simple: a freckled girl holding the leash of dog dripping with something labeled “honey.”

“You” it said, “possibly committing identity theft,” and then “Honey Cakes, very likely a good girl.”

Lionel had no other choice but to wander about what drove people to show up at strange hours, call themselves the devil, and draw cute dogs on papers. She guessed it was probably just how the world was and that she shouldn’t linger on it.

She did end up lingering on it though. It danced in between her thoughts of “one last cigarette” and true crime podcasts about break-ins, she wandered about it for a long time.