It is July seventh, 1967. A woman with a very large red hat stands at the counter of a diner. It’s the only building for about fifty miles.

“A coke.”

“A coke?”

“A coke, please.”

The waitress nods quietly and looks up and lingers on the hat, maybe slightly too long, and then looks back down, and smiles again and nods quietly again, but this time letting out a little half sigh, half laugh. But it’s not funny. It really isn’t funny how large her hat is.

In the back of the diner, the swing doors to the kitchen flap open. Danny looks up from his arugula to see what Katy has to say.

“There’s… there’s a lady out front..” she pauses and forgets to keep talking and just stares at the floor for a while. A few seconds, probably.

“A lady? What lady? She want somethin’ cookin’?”

“No…” says Katy, “she wants… a coke.”

“Just a coke? Why you in here for? Just give her a coke?”

“Not just a coke… she wants a coke…. please.”

“Was… was she wearing a hat?”

“She was wearing a hat, Danny. A really, really, really big hat.”