Restless Conscience

POV: Roman

The waitress walked up to my booth, her pen poised over a small notepad. I shoved the laminated menu toward the edge of the table and dropped a crisp hundred-dollar bill right on top of it. I couldn't eat a single bite. I slid out of the worn leather booth, gave the confused waitress a terse nod for wasting her time, and walked out of the diner into the chilly night air.

I drove back