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.