I cupped the mug in my hands and watched the surface move--slow and steady--almost imperceptibly. It had a remarkable stirring stillness, like a hurricane brewing. I could tell today would be a big one; I had just misjudged its magnitude. If I had known then that in the next four hours, I would have a profanity laced breakdown in the board room, weep in front of our CEO and race straight to the airport to take the first plane I could find—one to Alaska, of all places—I think I would have had another cup of coffee.

The diner was empty at this hour, except a woman who I’m sure was a prostitute—fried red hair crimped and tumbling over a face caked with makeup—and a few older guys, who had no business being awake at this hour unless it was to visit the former. I sat at the bar and waited for someone to appear from the back. I had frequented enough dive bars and bus stops to feel at ease here, but the pangs of hunger from two days straight on the road had made me edgy. Well, that and possibility of the police.