I saw you come in, and I said to myself, there’s a real man, the waitress said as she stretched her arms across the table, handing him a menu with a thousand choices on it. Coffee? he nodded his head. You know what you like or do you need a few minutes? the cowboy held up two fingers. I’ll be back, the brunette told him. He watched her walk away.

Steak and eggs. Western Omelet. Denver Omelet. Mexican Omelet with chorizo. Pancakes. Waffles. Pork chops and eggs. Bacon and eggs. Biscuits and gravy. Too many choices, he whispered. 

You decided? she placed her hand on his shoulder.

I’ll stick with coffee and some buttered toast.

That’s it? he nodded. White or wheat, honey?

Wheat.

We got Texas toast, too.

Just wheat, he handed her the menu.

Coming right up.

His wife used to make breakfast for him. She scrambled eggs and fried bacon with toast. He liked bacon burnt. She was the only woman who ever got it right.

He stared at the pictures on the walls; a Western motif. Paintings of Cowboys and horses on velvet throughout the diner. Hank Williams played on the radio.

Here you go, hon, she handed him the toast and a note saying, I get off when the sun comes up.

He looked at her. She winked at him. He considered his options.