The diner is like something out of an old 80s movie: red checkered floors, plastic tables and chairs scattered about, some rock n' roll music leaking from a radio in the corner. The air is thick with unspoken resentment. I take a seat at the counter and order some food, half-expecting the lingering patrons to pull out a gun and challenge me to a game of poker.

I wonder what happened.

"You're not from around here," the waitress says, passing me a cola.

"Road trip. Just stopping here from a long day's drive. It's a nice town." I finish the cola in a few gulps and sigh. That cold really hit the spot.

When I look up, the waitress is frowning at me, and I get the sinking feeling that I said something wrong.

"'Nice,' huh? What if I told you our big factory shut down?" one of the patrons calls out.

"Nothing else to do but move out," another agrees.

"What are you gonna do, traveler?" the first man mocks, gesturing at my beat-up Cadillac parked outside. "Are you the rich hero in disguise, here to lift this town outta its sorry end?"

It's a tough job keeping my mouth shut, but gradually the commotion dies down. I sigh and dig into my plate of chicken and fries, which the waitress left on the table. Now that the tension has diffused, the diner takes on a lighter mood. There's some chuckles at the tables. Someone finally decides to switch the radio to a station with better reception. The waitress comes back out of the kitchen, humming to herself.

This is the way it's supposed to be. Isn't it exhausting, brooding and worrying over something you can't control? You just gotta move on.

People hate hearing that. But for me, I've accepted my inability to help. Some things just don't have a happy ending. The most I can do is make people feel a little better. Get them to loosen up and vent so it's all out there. Smooth over the wounds instead of ripping them open and making the problem worse.

"Jacob hasn't blown off steam like that in a while." I look up. The waitress is leaning against the counter. She gives me a tired smile. "I know that was rough. Sorry."

"It's okay. I appreciate it when people speak their minds." Makes it easier for my ability, too. 

She tilts her head at me. "I don't know why, but you seem to be the smooth-talker type. Someone who can listen, and who might actually try to help us."

My ability puts people at ease. It's not the same as solving the problem, but sometimes it makes it seem like hope is there.

But these people need a bit of hope. Even if it's only an illusion, it's amazing what can happen when people choose to believe.

"Tell me how I can help," I say.

My road trip can wait. Besides, maybe this is the place I've been looking for all along.

Word count: 485. A double-entry; both for the Weekend-Write In's 'down' prompt and Aim To Engage's 'Road Trip.' Planning to reuse this character later on. 500 words were tight to squeeze in the MC's ability... :/