Diana

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Oct. 22

Dear Alex,

Today it was really busy at the diner. Some little girl was having a birthday lunch and invited her whole Italian family. It was extraordinarily loud, and by the end of the day, my head was pounding behind my eyes and all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't even have time to keep an eye out for you.

Before I went home for the night, Diana, the lady who runs the place, took me by the arm and asked, "when was the last time you ate?"

I stared at her sun-spotted hand gripping my sleeve and said, quietly, "oh, you know."

Diana lead me gently into the kitchen and took out a leftover sandwich wrapped in tinfoil and an apple. She smiled at me, the crows feet at the corner of her eyes and the wrinkles around her mouth deepening.

"How's Sean?" she asked as I unwrapped the sandwich, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"He's fine," I responded, after swallowing.

"Been treating you well?"

"Well as ever."

It was dark out by then, the only light coming from a fluorescent bulb above us. Diana put a hand on my shoulder. "You know I'm here if you ever want to talk."

I didn't respond, and she nodded, grabbed her jacket off a hook by the door and said, "well, I'd better be off. Lock up when you're finished," and she slid out into the October air, her inky black hair camouflaging with the night.

Love,

Carrie

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