Emblasio (tone test)

The earthy, velvety sugarless coffee in Emblasio’s diner mug coated and sat on his tongue. Venya’s Diner was run down inside out. Sitting in the middle of buck nowhere along Hell Ryser Highway. He had been driving down this long, never ending road for days. Seeing nothing but grass fields yellowed by the sun’s relentless rays that didn’t have rain to water down its strength. “Not even a damn tree in this cotton mouth town,” he mumbled to himself as he looked out the black mold infested windows. He downed his coffee then raised his mug to the waitress passing by. A beautiful hazelnut haired woman who’s stare could kill you if you dare touch her.

The coffee pot in her hand seemed as unimpressed as her by his outlaw stoic face. Grizzled by salt and pepper stubble that was more salt than pepper. His eyes, although apple green, appeared far darker than the average person could see. There was this deep sadness the waitress could see as she poured him another cup of coffee. One that, if they had known each other as lovers or friends, would be too much work for her. He thanked her with a simple nod and tip of his worn and disheveled grey cowboy hat. She brought the duck’s mouth of the coffee back up and said: “I don’t know who you think you’re foolin’, but I’d lose the hat. This ain’t no horse town. And there sure is hell ain’t no saloon out here.”

“Mam, you are straight as a bullet and a sharp shooter. But this hat ain’t for looks. I’ve been out in the sun God knows how long. I got a full head a hair and tough skin. But that don’t mean I’m invisible.”

“You on a road trip or somethin’ there cowboy?”

“I guess you could say that, ya. Got any good pie to go with this coffee?”

“Ya, you damn goofy outlaw. You like apple?”

“Damn straight.”

“Comin’ up.”

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