In the late 1960s I was a waitress at a restaurant by the name of "Arizona's Most Fabulous Little Diner." Being an attractive 24 year old woman I was hit on a lot. Like a lot.
In March of 1967 a man walked in. He wore a grey coat and black pants. He sat down and looked straight at me. He asked if he could see a menu. I handed him one and three minutes later he called out "Can I have a... Umm... Cheeseburger with fries."
At first he just talked about his job. He hated it. After about a month he would talk about his co-workers (His only friends) and how they made him happy.
After about 6 months his wife became an often talked about subject. She sounded like a pain. He wasn't allowed to talk to friends, family, even his female boss. So me and everyone else on the fucking planet were a closely kept secret.
One day, he said that his wife had died of a heart attack. He said "She probably figured out I was talking to real people and heart exploded." He then asked me if he wanted to go out sometime. I declined.
At 9:35 PM just as we were getting ready to close he came in. His eyes, bloodshot. He talked to me while Martha (The snoopy intern) listened in.
"Hey... Did you hear about the funeral?" He said with his cold shaky voice.
"No, I don't even know her name." I whispered nervously.
"Mary Jane. I know she only wanted the best for my but... I just couldn't take it anymore." His voice slightly raised.
"W-What do you mean?" I mumbled
"Never mind." He stormed out, never to return.
About 3 days later I saw a newspaper lying on a the diner table. The headline read: "MARY JANE MARS FOUND DEAD. HUSBAND MISSING."
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