Several blocks away from where the Circle of Creation rose in its occluded majesty sat the simple, square frame of the Diner. At some point the neon that had once fueled its blaring sign had burnt out, leaving the true name of the diner lost to the gloom. It simply sat as a beige kingdom filled with cracked rubber booths, outdated menus, and coffee strong enough to dissolve tar. A number of regulars with just enough money to go out to eat, and not enough money to go anywhere else, were scattered like forgotten dolls around the dining area, and the occasional staff member drifted by like the walking dead, nicotine fingers clearing plates, and purple ringed eyes staring blankly at the cash register.
The diner was crushing in its banality, a decaying remnant in a decaying world, and something insidious and horrible had happened here, something that had already left its mark, though who was there to truly notice?