“Yeah… she was really something,” muttered Hurricane, ducking his nose into the chipped cup of half-empty diner coffee. He caught his breath as he gazed into the window, memorizing the light tapping of raindrops and humming to the sound of her howling wind.
“But, ya’know, it just… never really worked out.” Outside, the rain began to rattle the glass.
“Funny thing about storms,” he choked up a laugh, “when you’re a hurricane, everybody thinks you’ve got direction. Some pressure system telling ya’ where ya’gotta go.” His finger circled the rim of his cup, now empty and cold, in a spiral motion. “But, sometimes you just spin. Round and round and fucking round.”
“And sometimes…” he sighed, “you spin right into another storm.”
The diner was silent save the rain washing the window pane like whispers of a memory.
“She came in like a Nor’easter. Sharp. Cold. Wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Caught between things–specifically a cold front and a warm front. But she made the whole world turn towards her.” Hurricane reached up and removed his fedora. “From the start, I had my eye on her. Thought I could warm her up…But ya’ can’t warm up an extratropical cyclone with 60+ mph winds and a cold core.”
A droplet slowly trailed the window, meshing into another before they both gave out. “We were just two lost tropical storms looking for anything…love, hope, understanding…Whatever it was, she left when the pressure dropped. Said she needed ‘clear skies’. Turns out she wanted another direct fuel source…caught her winds blowing the Atlantic Ocean. He was releasing his latent heat into her. I had to call it quits.”
Hurricane trailed off. He silently brought his fedora back to his head, straightening the creases. He buttoned up his suit, adjusted himself and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, taking a quick puff before signalling the waitress.
“What’s the damage?”
