GREETINGS! from Little Eden

Track 1 - Great Expectations

Jackson sighed frustratedly as the thumb and forefingers of his left hand lingered on the fob of his car key, refusing to let go, even with the car now in park. His right hand, similarly, gripped the gearstick, his arm tensing, ready to move it back into drive, just waiting for the signal.

No one knows you're here. No one's expecting you. No one's waiting. You could just... go. Go back. Run. You still got away for a day or so. Maybe it's all you needed.

Throwing his head back against the driver's seat headrest, cursing near-silently as he stared at the beige lining. Fine. Fine. I'm here now.

He hesitated briefly before he pulled on the handle. Once it clicked, though, he swung the door open, freeing his seatbelt from the buckle and then himself from the car, forcing himself on to his feet, stretching his body out before taking in the surroundings, removing his now-futile Wayfarers. The sky above the Atlantic was turning a dark blue as the fiery red of a sunset lowered behind him and the old town of Little Eden.

From the parking lot where the painted lines were long ago faded, he followed the path north along the beach, under the boardwalk, almost drawn in that direction. The pier still stood, barely, but everything on it had dulled or rusted, weather-worn paint splintering away. This time of evening, the ferris wheel lights would be a beacon of night-life and youth. The whole structure was once filled with glorious technicolour fairground rides amidst carnival games; now they were sepia-toned metal frames and empty shacks.

And then the diner, not far from the boardwalk...

Somewhere in his memory, if he tried hard enough, he could relive the smell of fresh coffee in the pot and real diner food on the grill; the sound of classic rock and roll with an underlying crackle of static through the old speakers and murmured conversations from the customers. Easier to recall was the pastel turquoise detailing on the wall, the chessboard tiling on the floor, the solid red of the surface tops and seating. It was every diner everywhere, but this one was his, and theirs.

If only some of it was still here, he thought. His little corner of Little Eden, where the boys were never unwelcome.

It didn't come as a surprise to Jackson; demolition work started before he'd left Little Eden. Likewise, it wasn't what had pushed him out - that tipping point had come before then - but it damn well sure solidified his decision. One less thing to keep him here. What disappointed him was that whatever it was meant to become... didn't. It was nothing.

The younger Jackson would've been filled with an adolescent fire in the gut that often got him into the wrong kind of trouble. 10 years later - wait, no... 14 years? Jesus... - that fire was just ashes of disappointment.

And then, for a moment, she crept back in. Her face was out of focus in his mind, hazy but framed by her raven-black hair. But the feeling was there, instantly. It was like belonging somewhere every time he walked into the diner and she was there, making sure the boys got one of her tables, one of their quarters set aside for her jukebox recommendation. He always noticed a slight lift in her step when her songs would come on, even if she'd been on her feet for hours; in return, Jackson heard songs he never knew that he never knew, starting a journey down a rabbit hole of discovery, flipping through Mama's old record collection, and from then on, those songs would always remind him of her.

A melancholy smile crept across Jackson's face, trying to hold on to the better memories of her, her red lips, her voice, her warmth and aura. He pulled out a cigarette, though, lighting it and inhaling with deep purpose, as the other memory cut in, the one that lingered and haunted, of her tail lights disappearing into the night.