Hector returns from the kitchen with two large plates of biscuits, gravy, and sausage. He places a plate in front of first Crank, then Simone. He winks and then moves toward the couple at the end of the counter.

“Bon appetite!” Hector says, his smirk returning.

The broad shouldered, one-legged drunkard chews at a piece of bacon and then tosses it back on the plate. He drunkenly slurs as he attempts to regal his diner-mates with one of his usual tales.

“Did I ever tell you, Sue…About how I lost my leg?”

The postal service worker, whose name is obviously Sue, turns to Paul. She wags a finger in his direction.

“Come on now, Paul…” she warns. “Why don’t you just go on back to sleep? No one wants to hear your stories while they’re trying to eat. Especially, stories about losing a limb.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Paul retorts. “But your young friends might. You’ve probably heard all my stories before. You want to hear my stories, don’t you?”

Paul looks straight at the red-haired young man sitting beside his youthful lover. The young woman tosses her hair over one shoulder and shrugs.

“Sure, why not,” the blushing new bride agrees. “What the heck? We’re on our honeymoon. Just another great story to add to our cross-country collection. So…How did you lose the leg?”

Paul straightens is his chair, happy to have a captive audience. Hector begins wiping down the counter. He watches Paul warily—not so sure that encouraging him is a good idea. Paul can sometimes become unruly when his blood gets high.

“Well, miss,” Paul begins. “A cow kicked me. More correctly, an ox. I was all the way out in Oregon at that time, chopping down trees for one of the biggest lumber companies in the country—”

“You were a lumberjack?” the red-haired groom says through a wide grin. “A real lumberjack? Like the brawny paper towel guy?”

Paul shoots the young man a withering glare. His voice loses all of its slur in a moment of pure clarity and indignation.

“I wasn’t just a lumberjack, son!” Paul exclaims through clenched teeth. “I was the lumberjack! And who the hell is the Brawny paper towel guy?! Oh, nevermind."

Hector rubs the counter as if he is trying to wipe off the varnish. He looks at Paul out of his peripheral vision. “Oh, boy…Here we go.”

“Ever heard of Paul Bunyan, son?” Paul continues.

The young bride stifles a laugh, the groom spits out the gulp of coffee he had just taken into his mouth. Crank glances over at Simone whose mouth hangs in an expression of disbelief. He is clueless as to what has invoked such a reaction from everyone involved. Sue uses a palm to slap the counter. She spins on her stool to face Paul.

“Okay, Paul…Enough,” Sue warns, sharpness edging into her voice. “Stop. Just stop. Enough of the foolishness. Just eat your food and go back to sleep. Leave these young people alone.”

“Oh, what do you know, Sue?” Paul retorts. Anger takes more of the slur from his voice. “You never listen to anything I say.”

“Yeah, because everything you say is rubbish,” Sue responds back.

Simone raises a hand to quiet the group.

“Come on. Simmer down, people.” Simone says. She offers Paul a sympathetic look. “Maybe what he needs is just to talk. And have someone listen. At least hear the man out, okay? It’s not that hard. Just let him talk. Please, Paul…Continue.”

Paul raises his glass of orange juice and vodka into the air in a salute.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Paul says. He sips his drink before continuing his story. “Well, as I said…I was way up in Oregon…Working for one of the biggest lumber companies in the country…Maybe even the world. We were chopping down trees left and right…Me and Babe. Didn’t need no team. We could cut down more than fifty men just the two of us. Well, one day there was a white-out. A blizzard that had visibility so low most of the men couldn’t see two inches in front their own faces. But Babe and I…We just kept right on working through the storm. The bitter cold made those trees easier to chop down. They were frozen almost solid. Babe got into a rhythm. She’d just give those darn trees a mighty kick and fell 'em. We went on like that for three whole days. On the third day…Is when it all went wrong. As I stood surveying our work, Babe mistook my leg for a tree. She gave it a mighty kick. Kicked my leg clean off. I screamed so loud…A big ole avalanche covered me right over. When I woke up again, the sun was out. And I was nowhere near my home. I had no idea where I was. Then, I wandered in here. Old Hector there has taken care of me ever since.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Hector nods affirmatively. “Yep. Paul here has been warming up that booth for quite a few years. Keeps me company.”

The red-haired young man swivels his stool in Paul’s direction.

“This is like some delusion right?” He asks between a chuckle. “You can’t possibly believe that you’re…the Paul Bunyan?”

Paul doesn’t say a word and only goes back to eating his food. Sue stands up and grabs her jacket from the counter. Slinging her jacket over one arm, Sue reaches into a pocket and withdraws a ten-dollar bill.

“See you later, Hector. I’ve got to get back to the post office,” Sue says with a kind smile. She nods to the newlyweds. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Without another word, Sue leaves the diner. When the door closes, Crank leans over and whispers into Simone’s ear.

“Why is it so unbelievable that his name is Paul Bunyan? Is that name forbidden?”

Simone shakes her head and turns to answer his question. “No. Paul Bunyan is a character from a folk legend. What we oomans call a tall tale. He doesn’t exist. They think he’s crazy. I just think he’s sad. And lonely. I know the feeling.”

Crank drops his eyes to Simone’s mouth. Wanting to caress her lips. To kiss her. To tell her she is not alone. To make her really believe it. However, he realizes that now is not the time.

Sparing a momentary glance at the front window, Crank spies an amorphous distortion in the distance. The distortion shimmers, a figure becoming briefly distinguishable from its background. Crank immediately recognizes it for what it is. He grips Simone’s forearm and pulls her close. She stares into his panicked eyes.

“Rogue hunters. They’re here,” Crank whispers hoarsely. “We have to go!”

Crank hurries to his feet and attempts to pull Simone along with him. Paul Bunyan becomes incensed and climbs to his foot, using his cane made of California pine to support his weight.

“Now look here, buddy!” Paul hollers with indignation. “If the young lady wants to go with you…She’ll go with you. No need to be pushing her around!”

Simone raises a hand to wave Paul off, clambering to her feet of her own will.

“No…Paul,” she reassures him. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Paul, who has taken a liking to Simone since she came to his defense, steps out of the booth and hobbles to cut Crank off from the front entrance. Crank becomes impatient and a soft chitter escapes his throat. Paul Bunyan hears it, but believes Crank has called him an unfriendly name.

“What did you say?” Paul hollers through clenched teeth. “Careful, son! Keep talking like that and I’ll knock you into next Tuesday. That’s what’s wrong with the youth today…No respect for your eld—”

In a moment of rage, Crank commits an action he knows he will regret, but he doesn’t have time to play games. The rogue hunters are here. And they will kill everyone in this diner if he doesn’t get moving. Crank pulls back an arm and punches Paul Bunyan square in the center of his face. Even using only about a third of his youthful yautja strength; Crank’s fist connects with Paul’s face with tremendous force. The old man flies up and into the air. A freakish arc of blue light causes everything to move in what seems like slow motion. As Paul crashes through the front window, Crank resumes pulling Simone and rushes out the door. Paul hits the ground, particles of glass and dust exploding into the air. Crank and Simone cover their faces as a dust storm surrounds them, making it impossible to see.

"Ships. Many ships," Crank mentally surmises.

Rogue hunter ships must be the cause of the sudden dust storm. They’ve come in full force. They mean business. Their goal is either to take him back, or to kill him. With a show of force this size, he doubts they will leave anyone in this entire town alive.

Crank pulls Simone to him in a tight bear hug—waiting for the dust to settle. He wants the last thing he sees to be her face. To feel her in his arms. He squeezes his eyes shut and rests his head in Simone’s mane of curly hair. Her scent is intoxicating, distracting him from the impeding pain of a rogue hunter’s laser. The pain never comes.

Crank opens his eyes once the noise of the gale ceases. He draws back and stares down at Simone. A worried expression is etched on her face.

“Crank?” Simone asks. “What’s happened? Where are we?”

Crank releases Simone and springs effortlessly to his feet. Turning in nearly a full circle, Crank only half believes what he is seeing. Nothing. Well, almost nothing. No diner, no gas station, no hotel, no department stores, and no rogue hunter ships. Nearly everything, as far as the eye can see, is sand and tumbleweeds. Is it possible that only they have survived the rogue hunter’s decimation weapons?

As if in answer to Crank’s internal dialogue, Paul Bunyan bolts upright. The lumberjack unburdens himself from beneath a pile of sand, debris, and tumbleweeds. He offers Crank and Simone a wide grin before hobbling forward with his pinewood cane.

“I know where we are,” Paul says, his smile growing wider. “We’re home. My home.”

Paul Bunyan points to a weather-beaten sign several meters away. Simone’s mouth drops open and she takes a step forward in disbelief.

“No. This can’t be,” she mutters almost to herself.

Paul Bunyan laughs a hearty laugh and limps toward the sign and a decrepit building just beyond it.

“At least the saloon’s open,” Paul says over one shoulder. “Let’s get our bearings and make some new friends.”

Crank shakes his head vigorously from side to side. Just his luck.