A G.E.D.

Dean sat in a corner booth at Earl’s Kountry Cafe, quietly eating his breakfast. The place had that familiar, worn-in feel—faded yellow walls, a few crooked pictures of horses, and cracked vinyl seats that had seen better days. The coffee was hot and bitter, the kind you drank more out of habit than for any real enjoyment. But it was quiet, and that was enough for now.

( No monsters. Just quiet contemplation )

[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, etc.]