Chapter 9
They exited the highway and drifted into the quiet grid of the old industrial town where Julian had grown up. The streets were dark, lined with modest brick houses and overgrown oak trees that cast long, swaying shadows under the streetlamps. Near the edge of the downtown district, a familiar neon sign hummed and flickered in the damp night air: The Daily Grind. It was a twenty-four-hour diner with cracked vinyl booths, a stainless-steel counter, and a coffee pot that had likely been brewing the same bitter roast since the seventies. Julian pulled the sedan into the empty parking lot, parking right beneath the flickering sign. He turned off the ignition, letting the engine tick softly as it cooled down. "You hungry, Dad?" Julian asked, turning toward him with a faint, genuine smile. Arthur blinked, looking out the frost-flecked window at the greasy spoon he had frequented after every double shift at the stamping plant. A slow, tired smile touched the corners of the old man’s mouth. "A cup of coffee wouldn't hurt," Arthur said softly. They stepped out of the car together, the cold night air biting at Julian’s tuxedo shirt, reminding him of the absurdity of what he had been wearing just an hour ago. He reached over, unclipped his black bow tie, and tossed it into the car before locking the door.
