Ryan J. Capper

Dark Blue Light

Dark Blue Light My elongated sip of coffee soothes my posture deeper into the abnormally comfortable, worn and cracked leather booth seating in the corner of the North Pines Diner. For whatever reason, paying extra to have your own coffee brewed outside of home tastes better than the diners, and more exclusive. Nothing against the diner’s coffee, I’m just settling in for a long night of writing a few college papers I’ve procrastinated on, and the strength of my roast is required. Being away from all home distractions, like my bed, TV, video games, etc. makes me precipitously productive. The inevitable yearning for home after hours of work in a public setting makes home even more satisfying. With a window behind me, and one to my left directly in front of my converted to street-safe, black and blue Yamaha dirt-bike, an economical choice I’m loving. I gaze behind me past an open field into a deep green wooded forest. The sun glares just above and in between the highest of treetops, dusk is on the horizon in a about two hours. A few other cars occupy the parking lot, all town folk, two of them sitting at the counter eating, another reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. A middle-aged woman reading a book with a slice of pie, sits in a booth to my right adjacent to the side door of the 24-hour establishment. One of my favorite things this diner does is when the weather too calm and warm to ignore, they’ll prop the side door open for a fresh gust of air throughout the diner, we are privileged with that tonight.