I love the things that come spilling in over the booth with the coffee and the cake at the diner.
All I do is sip and listen. (Musie always says, Just shut up and write this down. It’ll make sense later.)
Story of my life. Please wait to be seated.
Hopefully she’ll seat us in the corner booth where the acoustics are good. You can hear the cook on the rubber floor stab and flip a frying slab of ham with a fork.
Nothing is lost on a carnivore with a notebook.
The dishwasher way in the back stacks drying plates to The Blues but we patrons out here on the carpet are stuck with the news.
“Keep it real. Keep it real??!! What’s that even mean?” lobs in from the couple still griping about the times and the weather at their table.
Never complain about seating to a Hostess.
An anonymous passerby on his way out leans “Honesty is the best editor” over his shoulder. He must’ve seen me gathering, staring elsewhere with a cake-smudged smirk on my face.
He also carried a notebook under his wing.
All I know is the coffee’s always good at the diner Especially so when it’s Either running low Or when it’s raining sheets outside
Photo by Hans Vivek on Unsplash