Fiction stub

You leaned in and whispered, there will never be another day like this. And looking back on that day so many years ago, when we sat in a diner off US-67 and split a piece of pecan pie over coffee, I think you were right.

I remember the way our coffee cups left copper stains on the plastic countertop and the way 18-wheelers passing outside kicked up dust so thick it blocked the sun. If I'd known that was the last time I'd see you, I'd have paid more attention.