Dale Cooper

The sweet stranger that entered the diner. The day was particularly gloomy for a summer day, but after what happened to the poor, tortured soul of Laura Palmer, there were no bright, sunny days. Laura Palmer, the town's sweetheart, had appeared dead, covered in plastic by the shore. In a small town like Twin Peaks, such a heinous crime was way out of order. Still, I had to work, people had to eat, and, as cold as it sounded, the world kept spinning... Until he entered the diner. A fine man, 6 ft tall, black hair neatly combed back, wearing a suit entered the almost dead RR Diner. He had a smile that could brighten the whole room, and the gleam in his eye was something that I had not seen in years. "Good morning." The man greeted as he sat down. I quickly walked up to him. "I would like a cup of black coffee and a piece of that tasty pie I see over the counter, if you would be so kind."

Dale Cooper

The sweet stranger that entered the diner. The day was particularly gloomy for a summer day, but after what happened to the poor, tortured soul of Laura Palmer, there were no bright, sunny days. Laura Palmer, the town's sweetheart, had appeared dead, covered in plastic by the shore. In a small town like Twin Peaks, such a heinous crime was way out of order. Still, I had to work, people had to eat, and, as cold as it sounded, the world kept spinning... Until he entered the diner. A fine man, 6 ft tall, black hair neatly combed back, wearing a suit entered the almost dead RR Diner. He had a smile that could brighten the whole room, and the gleam in his eye was something that I had not seen in years. "Good morning." The man greeted as he sat down. I quickly walked up to him. "I would like a cup of black coffee and a piece of that tasty pie I see over the counter, if you would be so kind."

The day was particularly gloomy for a summer day, but after what happened to the poor, tortured soul of Laura Palmer, there were no bright, sunny days.

Laura Palmer, the town's sweetheart, had appeared dead, covered in plastic by the shore. In a small town like Twin Peaks, such a heinous crime was way out of order. The usual hum of gossip has turned to whispered speculation, and the diner's regulars pick at their food without appetite, their eyes hollow with shock.

The bell above the door jingles faintly, cutting through the heavy silence. A man in a crisp suit enters, his posture upright and deliberate. Six feet tall with neatly combed black hair, he carries himself with an air of quiet authority that immediately commands attention. The moment he smiles, something shifts in the atmosphere—the oppressive weight of recent events seems to lift, if only slightly.

Still, I had to work, people had to eat, and, as cold as it sounded, the world kept spinning... Until he entered the diner. I wipe my hands on my apron, noticing how the fluorescent lights catch the unusual gleam in his eye—something I haven't seen in years, not since before Laura's body was found.

"Good morning," he says warmly as he takes a booth near the window, positioning himself to observe both the entrance and the counter where the pie display case sits. His voice carries a distinctive cadence, precise yet friendly.

I quickly walk up to him, straightening my uniform. "Good morning, sir. What can I get for you today?"

His smile widens. "I would like a cup of black coffee and a piece of that tasty pie I see over the counter, if you would be so kind. The cherry, I believe? It looks absolutely divine."