A booth in a diner. Menus with pictures of breakfast items on them. Coffee pot sits on the table. Willie Nelson sings in the background. A man and woman sit in silence; not sure of what to say. The waitress comes over to take their orders.

I’ll have pancakes, she says. Do you have a sugar-free syrup? She asks. The young girl nods her head and takes notes.

You sir?

I’ll have the bust your belt special.  Sunnyside, bacon crisp, links, not patties, hash browns and buttered white toast. Oh. And a large orange juice. He smiles and hands her the menu.

It’ll be up shortly.

They stare out the window at cars passing by. Dodge, Fords, Chevys, old rusted out vans, beat-up pickup trucks. Sun is coming out. Streetlights fade. Still no words between them. Conway Twitty sings in the background.

OK.  Here you go, the waitress says , placing plates in front of them. Is there anything else? The couple shakes their heads and smiles. Well. Let me know.

The food sits there untouched. Maybe a bite of bacon. A sip of coffee. But, pretty much untouched.

She picks up her purse, unzips it, pulls out a small velvet black box, and pushes it towards him. She places her hand on his, smiles, and walks away.