The waitress pours coffee. He takes a wad of gum out of his mouth and places it on a napkin. Small packages of half and half  lie open in a pile on the table. He looks out the window at semis driving by, cars filled with people traveling somewhere, and pickup trucks with high beams on in the light of dawn. A muffler drags.

Chicken fried steak comes out on a plate with mashed potatoes and gravy.   Limp green beans on the side. He butters a roll.

A short prayer is whispered. God is thanked for this meal. He attacks the food with salt and pepper. Digs in.

He chews fast. Taking large bites. Moving the cream gravy around on his plate. Cutting into the meat with the side of his fork. Washing it all down with  brown coffee that has grown cold. I miss her, he says. I miss her.

The check is turned upside down on his table. He pays and  leaves two bills and some odd change from his pocket.  The waitress shakes her head.