Cold grey eyes stare down

Into the chipped white cup

Where blackness swirls

Thick and harsh and lukewarm at best

That slow spinning slice of apple pie

Would make him too obvious

The traveler smiles to himself

Avoiding that reflection

And the buzzing neon sign above it

Behind the counter of that small town diner

They watch him stir the sludge

And wonder about him for small moments

Between the wide and treacherous gossip

Swirling thicker than the coffee

Chirping like birds on a bright spring morning

Small towns hold the most secrets

Each soul deserving and undeserving

Of a visit from the traveler

Time moves slower in places like this

Only a brush with the rusty hands of the traveler

Could cause its quickening

Gossip is silenced and truth comes to light

In the deep dark woods

Known only to the traveler