Over Coffee || enduringvice
Sam drummed his fingers on the laminated table top, nodding to the waitress as she set down his coffee. He glanced around the diner, its meager show of customers washed out in the light of the cloudy afternoon. A trucker at the counter, his beat up hat resting next to his plate of eggs. A graying old couple, probably ordering the same thing they had been for thirty years. But no young red head, whose shock of hair would be unmistakable bobbing towards him.
He sighed into his coffee, leaning into the back of the booth. His eyes flickered to the clock on the wall- ten past two. Was she going to be a no-show? Sam let his eyes wander back to the window, avoiding the hungry look the waitress had been giving him since he sat down fifteen minutes ago.