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And he hopes that Lauren?iu’s thirst, if it offers a distraction, won’t impair his judgment. Get him in danger while Paimon is distracted.
“Waffle Duke is very good. Classic. I used to enjoy studying late at night and going there for hashbrowns smothered in peppers and onions. With...” He trails off.
“Hashbrowns,” Paimon repeats.
“They’re...” Lauren?iu seems to search for the words, as if hashbrowns are an inexplicable phenomenon.
“I know what they are.” After all, he saw a lot of movies. He knows what hashbrowns and diners are. “I’ve never had them.”
Lauren?iu says with a hint of dry amusement, “You’ve had escargot dipped in garlic-parsley butter and caviar, but you’ve never had hashbrowns?”
“I’ll admit, the number of deep fried diners in Hell is astonishingly low. We fallen pride ourselves on our pretension.”
Lauren?iu turns around and goes to park at the Waffle Duke. “We could try it, so long as it doesn’t delay us too much, and so long as we aren’t caught. I would really like to not get staked and decapitated again.”
“That’s fair,” Paimon agrees.
“If need be, I’ll summon my legions to keep us safe and wage war against humanity. We can spend an hour at two at a diner without trouble.”
Lauren?iu looks skeptical. “I expect trouble to follow us.”
“I’m not so sure.” A grin. “We fallen angels excel at never causing trouble.”
Lauren?iu begins to turn around and head toward the Waffle Duke.
A man in a bright orange winter hat stands at the corner with a sign that needs, JUDGMENT IS NIGH REVELATION 20:12.
“Mhmm,” Lauren?iu replies. “I know you do.”
“It’ll be good to relax. An hour in, and I’ve already had to kill someone. It’s making me tense.” He’s lying. Killing is too much fun.
Briefly looking over at Paimon, Lauren?iu bats his eyelashes. “Poor thing.”
Paimon pouts. “I know!”
The Waffle Duke glows like an omen under power lines where crows converge and croak. The air smells of rain, cigarettes, car exhaust, and fried eggs and potatoes.
On the concrete step before the glass door, a woman with curly gray hair and an oversized coat holds out a cup, and always a marginally polite devil, Paimon dumps half a grand in it.
She cries and runs off, but Paimon isn’t sure why. That’s not a lot of money. Maybe she’s sad that he didn’t give more, but she could’ve asked.
Humans are peculiar.
They must look like quite the pair, strutting in, one man in semi-formal attire and the other in a band shirt. To be fair, many of the patrons inside have neon-dyed hair, from green to pink.
The atmosphere inside is a far cry from the side closest to the gate they passed through.
There are a couple of patrons inside, and a waitress shouts a pleasant welcome over the bustling behind the counter and the constant wave of friendly chatter.
It’s nice, but he misses Daisy, who’s dozing in the car.
He soaks in the atmosphere, and he starts to understand Lauren?iu’s somewhat jaded remarks about Southern hospitality. For all the contradictions and hypocrisies mortals contend with, he does, in this particular moment, feel like he belongs here as much as his throne room
Certainly, Lauren?iu’s presence helps. And he must admit that the smells hitting his nose are appealing, even with the hint of sweat and something deeper and more metallic from the other patrons.
Lauren?iu picks out a set of cherry-red booths in the far-left corner of the diner, near the restroom.
An assortment of condiments, syrups, and plastic squares of strawberry and grape jam rest on the table like a particularly colorful procession.
