Luke's Diner, Thursday

[age_of_the_geek]

Hardison cautiously poked his head inside the diner, ready to run at a moment's notice if anything looked even the slightest bit off. The Special's Board looked normal--a lot of baked goods, yeah, but nothing to suggest they were doing a number about eating people. The diner looked the way it normally did, nothing moved or rearranged to make room for dance numbers. And the staff was all moving around their jobs quietly and efficiently, no stage makeup, spangly versions of their uniforms, or random bits of choreography to be seen. Maybe the weekend had gotten it all out of their system. Or maybe the talking-to he'd given everyone about referencing cannibalism when they had tenants who'd gone through a zombie apocalypse had made an impact.

He eased the door open and took a step inside. The busboy looked at him, nodded, and went back to wiping down tables. Nobody else seemed to notice.

Ahh. Finally. Things seemed to be going back to normal. He let out a breath and sat down at a booth, pulling up badge numbers and records of the local Baltimore PD as a favor to Eliot.

And then, from the kitchen, a lone voice rose up in song.
"Make it work
Make it easy
Make it clever, craft it into pieces
Make it sweet
Crimp the edges
Or make it sour and serve with lemon wedges
Even doubt
Can be delicious
And it washes off of all the dirty dishes
When it's done
I can smile
It's on someone else's plate for a while..."

The dishwasher had a lovely voice but Hardison was going bang his head on the table anyway.

Today's Specials
Individual Pot Pies
Creamy Corn Casserole
Lemon Buttermilk Pound Cake