“Attention, attention. Special delivery!”
Roy stood in the front foyer of the diner, a cardboard package in his hand and a devious smile on his weather-worn face. He waved around his checked bandanna, the one that kept his prematurely grey hair tied back as he cooked, to obtain the diner staff’s attention after their monthly staff meeting.
On Mondays at two p.m., the diner’s slowest time (other than the three a.m. slump), they closed down Mel’s Place and put a “back in fifteen minutes” sign on the door. Though the staff meetings regularly lasted at least an hour, most of the diner’s regulars knew to stay away on the third Monday of every month. If they forgot what Monday it was, then Gerry’s Volkswagen in the parking lot was another dead giveaway that the coffee was no longer for them. I
