Member-only story
Polka Dot Socks
He wandered into the diner on a foggy Friday morning in April and slid into a booth. Stubble covered his aged face, his salt and pepper hair stuck straight up, from dirt or the wind, I couldn’t tell. He wore fuzzy black knee socks covered with polka dots of all colors and tan leather sandals. It was an odd mix, but the socks captured my attention. I moved to his table and smiled.
“Good morning. My name is Amy and I’ll be your waitress. Here is your menu. Would you care for something to drink?”
He looked at me with moody eyes that reflected the world in their obsidian depths. “Coffee. Black.”
“Coffee it is. I’ll be right back.” I hurried to the coffee station.
“Interesting character at your table,” said Karen, my friend, and fellow waitress. “No sharp utensils for that one.”
“Hmm…maybe, but he looks harmless. Besides, we can’t pick our customers.” I grinned and headed toward his table.
I set down the coffee mug. “Are you ready to order?”
“No food. Only coffee.”
His voice creaked like a rusty gate. “Okay. If you change your mind, flag me down.”
He grunted once, his gaze fixed out the window. After half an hour or so, he snagged my arm sleeve as I walked past. “I’m done.” He indicated I should precede him to the…
