––––––––
––––––––
When he walked into Brewster’s, old men in Vietnam vet ballcaps turned from their sausage and eggs. The younger crowd, dressed mostly in coveralls, stared hard over their coffee cups. He took a seat at the counter and flipped his mug. The diner at the back of the convenience store seemed too quiet as Shirley poured his coffee. “Whatchu want?” she asked.
“The special,” he replied. He wore ratty jeans and a thermal shirt but his beanie hat was all wrong, and his boots came from a fancy hiking store. The other men had a hard-muscled, rough-palmed look that came with a life working timber. He was slim and soft-handed.
At least he didn’t ask for cream and sugar.
I sipped my own bitter-black coffee from the other end of the counter.
Shirley dropped a plate of biscuits
