The parking lot is full, and the parking lot is never full,
not since before the pandemic. I park two blocks away, walk to the
diner, and it’s as busy as the law allows — there are ten customers
inside, and I’m the eleventh, which means nobody else can enter until
someone leaves. … [read more]

Kirstin is on the phone in the kitchen, jotting down someone’s
carry-out order, but when she sees me enter the diner, she waves. Harvey
is behind her in the kitchen, where he belongs, farther from the
customers than he’s been the last few weeks. … [read more]

Harvey is waiting tables again, and when I walk in, he looks at me
and says, “Sit anywhere.” That seems like an odd thing to say, in a
restaurant where there are five customers and 39 empty seats, and to a
guy who comes in every week and always sits anywhere. … [read more]

As I walk in, Harvey looks up from whatever he’s doing behind the
counter and eyes me. He says, “You want coffee?” The man is efficient. … [read more]

I’m at the diner on Thursday again this week, because tomorrow is New Year’s Day so they’ll be closed.

When I walk in, Phil is sitting at the corner stool, Frank’s former
residence. … [read more]

I’m at the diner on Thursday instead of Friday this week. Something
about our Lord and Savior being born tomorrow, so the diner will be
closed, and if I want an omelet this week it needs to be Thursday,
Christmas Eve. … [read more]

The diner was closed last Friday. It was the day after Thanksgiving,
and they’re not near any shopping corridor, so they must’ve figured
nobody would bother coming in for eggs and coffee. … [read more]

After losing my temper at breakfast last week, I’m hoping for minimal
snide remarks about it this morning, and minimal is what I get. Just
one line from Phil, who probably makes snide remarks in his sleep. … [read more]

Before walking into the diner, I always glance through the front
window to see whether Kirstin is working. This morning I see Harvey
behind the counter, so I lower my expectations half a notch, and step
inside. … [read more]

We recently bid farewell to Frank the Fixture, and now his cardboard
memorial is as gone as he is. The obituary is still taped to the wall
behind the seat where he always sat, but his space at the counter is now
just another stool and a stretch of Formica. … [read more]