Dreaming of the Eggshell Diner

Dreaming of the Eggshell Diner

It's midnight;
I think this is Kansas.
I blink and feel the Earth fall out from underneath me.
I shock awake and find myself in the middle of the empty two-lane.
I need a break.
Ahead I see a roadside diner glowing like an angler fish in this murky black infiniti.
The sign reads, "Eggshell Diner".
Rubbing my eyes the hostess seats me.
My waiter's nametag reads, "Dracula" I think,
He is tall, translucent and hairless. He speaks in monotone and his words blend together.
He blinks out of sight and blinks back with a glass of tea.
When I close the menu he dashes to the side of my table and I realize he was standing over me silently the whole time.
As I eat a notice an animated corpse walk in.
She takes a roll of silver from a bin on the wall.
She carries it on her flat open palm and her jaw hangs pendulously as dreamy she cruises to a booth where her gang awaits.
The manager give the succubus at the podium a quart of paint and brush to touch up the host stand.
She writhes immature and innocently lustful with her handful of metaphor.
I pay my tab at the front counter and the manager asks about my meal.
"Everything was just fine." The stock answer is a lie that shelters under my furrowed brow.
Dust flies cloudy around my feet as I walk to the truck.
In the vibrating rearview mirror I see the sign again
This time the letters E-G-G are burned out.
Was all of that a dream?

C. Evan Thompson
P.S. Based on true events