It’s nine p.m, July 3rd, 1953, and you’re working the late night at Paula’s, a diner notorious for being open late into the night.

As you wipe down a table and someone across the room fires up the juke box, you find yourself humming along.

The bell rings, and a mysterious man, a man who seems familiar, waltzes in. He sits in a booth in the far corner, eyeing you from across the room.

“Hey miss, can you get me a strawberry shake?” asks someone behind you, ripping you from your trance.