LAN06
DINER RECEIPT
RECEIPT NUMBER: LAN06
RECEIPT DATE: 11 27 1988
MANAGER TITLE: MON AMOUR
RECEIPT NOTES:
Apologies for disappearing this past month—or close to it. I’ve been preoccupied with a peculiar customer: Miss. Others. I know, “Miss.” doesn’t inspire confidence, and maybe I should have brought the rest of you in on this. But first—don’t forget who I am. If anyone would be dubbed Miss. Amour, it’s me, especially if I were to show up here as a customer. Titles like Miss., Mrs., or Mr. aren’t about temperament—they hint at potential. And Miss. Others, as far as I’ve observed, is amicable and, for the most part, benign. Truthfully, she’s hardly a customer at all.
I won’t claim to have studied her exhaustively, but I’ve… observed. Carefully. Patiently. A prideful creature can admit when it takes its time to watch and learn. Miss. Others is unlike anyone—or anything—I’ve encountered before. She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, yet she was undeniably there. Was. I’m not sure what changed, but the whisper of her voice faded out. I assume she’s been served in full, and I haven’t seen her for over a week now. I doubt I’ll hear from her again in my lifetime.
Miss. Others feels like an artifact of our rewinding clock—a bend, a break, a ripple in what was and what will be. And while I don’t expect her to return to the Cafe and Diner anytime soon, I can’t fully discount the possibility either. I don’t claim to understand her entirely, but if she does return, she’ll bring with her an expanded menu—one I’d be eager to see. Not that I believe it’s in the cards. She reminds me, in a way, of another customer—someone we encountered while serving Mr. Min. “Harmless” though they might seem, they’re symptomatic of something larger. A missing Bird. A rewound clock. And a Fate that might be far harder to escape than we dare admit.