I wrote this silly little thing as an attempt at starting a Noir tale of romance and loss.

Should I make it into a full story, or just let it sleep for a while longer? Any thing you notice, and any ideas any of you can throw in are also appreciated.

One early autumn night in the border between Sheol’s Kitchen Manehattan and Xingtown I’m sitting in this diner, called Grain’s Diner; The G in the neon sign long burnt out, nowadays reading as rain’s Diner. Such a little detail will entail the atmosphere here, it was depressing, filled with broken hearts, and broken dreams, a refuge for ponies that had a lousy night and wanted to drown it in onion rings and coffee instead of the usual alcoholic poison. Here ponies that consider that their sobriety is important to reflect on their mistakes.

I was looking into the cup of coffee I order half an hour ago, reflecting on the unpleasantness of the last couple of nights, dead ponies, dead dreams, and dead promises filled my psyche with the persistence of a tax collector doing their duty with a bonus on the side. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in years by this point; the fact that it was becoming business as usual for me was starting to become a problem.

To add insult to festering injury I had let a lead slip by my hooves. It was a sign that I needed to stop drinking. That was going to be a journey, I could feel it.

It rained an hour ago the midnight sounds that the city makes are like ghostly whispers of ponies that seek life where there is none. Truth be told, at this time the patrons that currently filled the establishment where just as dead as the ghouls in the sewers.

It had rained an hour ago, the streets and sidewalks still wet with the downpour. Something I noticed as I looked out the window, and then BAM!

She comes in, as beautiful as a bouquet of lilies under the light of the full moon. Despite her looks thought she looked like she had had a rough night. Her mascara had run down her face at some point, not long it seemed. Her eyes still a bit teary. And what blue eyes they were, they could almost pass for real sapphire. She was white as snow, with a mane that was a rosy pink. I couldn’t see her mark though; she was wearing a dark brown trench-coat that pretty much covered everything from neck to legs.

I decided not to keep staring, she seemed to have had a bad night, and she certainly didn’t need some drooling schmuck creeping her out.

That is why I didn’t notice when she started trotting towards me. “Excuse me, can I sit here?” She asked, oddly enough the place was packed tonight. So naturally I said. “Sure.”

She took her seat and the face that she had was the face of a pony that just had their heart yanked out. Who would give her such a bad time? I ended up opening my mouth. “I thought I had it bad. What’s your story?”

She then looked at me inquisitively, and rightfully asked. “What’s it to you?”

Naturally I said. “I’m just making conversation.”

I thought she was going to tell me that it was none of my busyness, or that that I should shove that question where Celestia’s sun doesn’t shine. I didn’t expect what she told me next. “Sure, but you are going to have to tell me the story behind that black eye.”

Truth is that had I almost forgot that I had it. I replied with the following. “It’s a long and sad tale. I don’t want to bother you with the details.”

She replied with the following. “Don’t worry, I have time. The name is Redheart by the way.”

I actually smiled. It had been years since I last smiled. “Folklore, and it’s a pleasure.”

After that we spent until sunrise in that diner, pouring our hearts out.

And the rest is history.

I would read the shit out of this.

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That's actually really good! But you do need to check your grammar a bit.