“No fluff,” said John.
“There is no fluff here, sir.” Another sentence, this time said by Mary. John would have known this detail had he checked her nametag, haphazardly placed but still in plain sight. Eye contact was never his strong point. Instead his focus was on the empty landscape to his right, devoid of anything interesting. Better than this dusty diner, thought John.
The implication of Mary’s statement suddenly hit him.
“No mustard, sorry.”
As Mary shuffled off in all her nameless glory, John couldn’t share her feeling of certainty. To his right, the clouds looked like cotton.