LIGHTS

"Attention all citizens of Metro" a booming voice said.
“What now?” said a thirty-something waitress behind the counter of a fifties style diner dressed in a yellow frock with a blue apron with white on the collar and pockets. The woman was in the process of serving a slice of cherry pie to a man sitting on a red vinyl stool on the other side of the laminate and black-and-white-checked counter. The man turned to the television set about six feet away and watched it go blank.
“One of dem ’nounce’m’nts from dem people up in the rich place. Dey really startin’ to both’r me now” the man said.
“I just wonder what foolishness it’ll be about now” the waitress murmured.
“Quiet, Missy, dey might hear you.”
“In honor of our annual races, it is our duty to assure that all the citizens have devoted their full attention to this program. We now direct your attention to Prime Minister Rowell” said the voice.
“Oh not the races…” the waitress complained.
A man in his forties walked onto a stage just as the video was turned on. He was wearing a navy suit with a dark shirt and tie, though it was hard to tell through the screen. He began to speak the monotonous speech that was spoken every year. Everyone knew it by heart, yet they refused to acknowledge that it existed. The races were simply a very expensive luxury car race. No one liked it though. It boasted the Bevagrio morality, which many Metro citizens disliked. Bevagrio was a country on its’ own. It was virtually the ruling capital of Metro but a separate world in its’ own right. This race was held in the most exotic of places, with the most luxurious cars in the world, and the best drivers you had ever seen. Scantily-clad women were found anywhere near the races, and the amount of opulence was overwhelming. There were various underground gambling sites where Bevagrio millionaires and young Metro men with high hopes imposing as businessmen bid on the racers, the cars, the hotels and even the “arm candy” that trailed behind. Just the thought of how screwed it was, on so many levels, was a thought to be dismissed in disgust. That year, the races were held somewhere no one had ever seen before: Kangastus, Haave. Haave was unknown to Metro until those races, since Bevagrio created it. It was a creation to be marveled at, in the Bevagrio minds, but to be disgusted by the Metros. It was a conglomeration of all the luxurious places that had ever existed in time. Since Metros were not allowed in to the actual races, they viewed it as pointless to even watch it.
A man from the other side of town walked into the diner.
“Hello Missy, how do you do today?”, the man said, grabbing her hand and giving it a light peck with his lips.
Flustered, the waitress said “I’m doing just fine Ed. Now what can I help you with?”
The man took a seat on the red stool, still grabbing her hand and said “Darlin’ I’d like some of your famous pie. And some coffee too, please.”
“Why of course. Which one do you want?”
“Surprise me!” the man said with a wink. The waitress smiled, turned around and went in the kitchen to get him some pie.