He used to sit at the counter eating a Western omelet. Ate dry rye toast with it and black coffee. A cigarette burned in the ashtray.

The waitress would walk by to check on him. Asking if he needed anything; commenting on the weather, local politics. Grandkids.

He never talked to other customers sitting by him. Didn’t even wish them good morning. Roger was there for two reasons only; breakfast and the counter girl.

She flirted with him. Kept the top two buttons on her blouse undone.  Smiled as she poured coffee. Treated him differently than the other old men sitting at the counter. She talked to them but never got too involved. However, when it came to Roger, she listened to his every word; knew everything about him.

The middle-aged blonde knew about his wife dying of cancer. She knew he missed her. Knew about his granddaughter going off to college.  And she knew no one came by near enough to check on him.

One morning, Roger didn’t come in. His seat was vacant for a couple of days. She started giving the obituaries a glance.

And at the end of that week, it appeared. The Journal Gazette briefly stated he passed away suddenly. Services would be at McCombs and Sons.

The tall blonde placed the paper on the counter, grabbed the coffee pot, and asked who needed a refill.