End of the Road Nebraska
Coffee filled the small white cup on the aging diner table. The woman who was pouring it, Jennifer –as her name tag told me– smiled at me. I hadn’t been looking at her, but I somehow felt this and gathered the courage to look up. She was beautiful. She had long, dark brown hair, practically black, set in a ponytail. Her eyes were equally dark, and full of complexity. I was able to read warmth, sweetness, but also hurt, in those eyes. I could tell already that she had had some tough times. Her...