He whispered, gravelly

The old man sat in the booth, staring beyond the horizontal slats of the window blinds, at nothing in particular. Though he sat perfectly upright, his face looked tired, seemingly worn from a lifetime of bad news and worse luck. His eyes were haggard; his skin leathery and deeply tan. His unshaven face had a hard, miserable, appearance. In contrast, the only waitress in the diner was young, and happy, and pleasantly plump. She approached his booth with a broad grin, and sparkling green eyes.

"Well, how are you today?" she chimed.

"Hey," the old man whispered gravelly, "what d'ya got to eat around here?"

"Well, how'd you like to see the lunch menu?" was the peppery and prompt reply. The waitress briskly pulled a laminated menu from her apron and placed it gingerly before the leathery old man. "There you are!"

"God damn," the old man whispered gravelly. "I can't read this."

"Well..." said the waitress in an ever-helpful tone, "our lunch specials are the French onion soup, and the chicken fingers." She paused briefly for effect, and then announced proudly, "those come with fries."

The old man clucked to himself, said "Goddamn" in a gravelly voice, and considered the options to himself. He stared out the window for what seemed like a long time. There was no one outside. The old man's mind wandered through the empty streets drained by the dry afternoon heat.

"I need a Goddamn drink," he whispered gravelly.

"Pepsi OK?" another peppery reply.

"Get me some Goddamn bourbon," he whispered gravelly -- and looking up at her for the first time, "please."

The waitress was apparently satisfied with the old man's manners. "I'll be right back!" And she spun on her heels, disappearing through the door behind the long lunch counter.

The old man once again slid his gaze between the dusty horizontal slats of the blinds, beyond the empty afternoon streets, straight through the kitchens and living rooms of the bungalows all around him, and even beyond the arid stretch of desert that surrounded everything in sight.

He stared into Nothingness through cold slits; Nothingness stared right back at him and he could sense her gaze - soaked with indifference, or perhaps it was enmity. She watched him from some impassable distance; and he could not look back. Awash in nothing, he felt his faded memories glow briefly, like embers in a breeze, and then fade again. Suddenly, he blinked, and sighed, and his mind retreated to the booth in the diner as the waitress returned with his drink.

"There you are," she said with emphasis, and plunked the small glass in front the man. He picked up the bourbon and downed it.

"Goddamn," he whispered gravelly. "Get me another."