Eddie stood behind the counter, breathless, his pompadour slightly askew. Sarah sat back down, a massive grin on her face. "What was that, Eddie?" she asked, smoothing out her skirt.
Eddie looked at the jukebox, which was now glowing a soft, satisfied blue. He picked up his rag and went back to the chrome. "I don't know," Eddie smiled. "But " jive_bunny_the_mastermixers_thats_what_i_like
Every customer in the diner—from the truck driver in the corner to the teenagers sharing a float—was suddenly caught in the "Mastermix." It was a whirlwind of decades. They twisted to shouted along to "Johnny B. Goode," and did the hand-jive to "Good Golly, Miss Molly." Eddie stood behind the counter, breathless, his pompadour
For three minutes and fifty-two seconds, the generation gap vanished. The 80s drum machines held hands with the 50s guitars. When the final notes of the medley faded and the rabbit vanished in a puff of glittery smoke, the diner fell silent. Eddie looked at the jukebox, which was now