C-TCC05 (Dec 9, 1988)
Puzzle
"Four in a Diner."
See: C-TCC04 | 1 Word
Clue
Hover over the clues if you require!
Clue 1: Doing any redecorations?
Clue 2: One of these paintings fits the description.
Answer and Explanation
Answer: Nighthawks
Explanation: This painting, as suggested by Eight, features four people in a diner.
Summary of Receipt
Summary
Transcript
CAFE RECEIPT RECEIPT NUMBER: TCC05 RECEIPT DATE: 12 9 1988 MANAGER TITLE: BALTIMORE RECEIPT NOTES: I suppose it sometimes pays to know your friends better than your enemies.
You might have noticed—the Zulus have dispersed. You’re welcome. I know the Indigo’s rules possibly better than they do, and after a rather compelling letter to Division Alfa, the Zulus have been forced back to their Seabase in Deadman’s Cove. Of course, if Shaka is to be believed, they weren’t exactly here on Agency business to begin with. But that’s the double-edged sword of getting your funding and freedom from the Indigos, isn’t it?
It’s true, all I’ve really done is buy us some time. But time is a currency I plan to spend wisely. My most trusted associate, I urge you to return to the Cafe and Diner as soon as you can. And, mon amour… perhaps it’s time for you to return to the Morningstar. Or, if you wanted—you could stay. Here. With us. With me. I’d understand, of course, if you have more pressing business to attend to. Your responsibilities go far beyond our little generic combination Cafe and Diner.
Time. A rather funny thing, isn’t it? Even with all the Cycles and Spheres, you can’t stop it. It just keeps turning. The hands circle the clock, hour after hour. Each hour is different, even when it feels the same. I’ve said before we have about four years until we can truly open. But there’s another date looming. A date I’ve been worried about for some time. And while I’ve done everything I can to prepare us, I fear it won’t be enough. The last thing we need, as that day draws closer, is Zulus snooping around—stirring up some “new” distraction. They’ll be back, of course. But by then, perhaps we won’t be.
Still ticking,
Twenty Hundred Hours