Unfinished crosswords and cigarettes

feed the granite regulars at the diner.

Torn vinyl and stained tiles welcome

neighborhood regulars; black rimmed glasses,

uncombed hair, cowboy boots, long

sleeve shirts and a variety of hats.

The food lacks life.

Coffee fuels the thoughts.  The place is

a safety net dipped in grease.

The radio stales the air.

A ceiling fan labors without love.  Sweat

and steam bathe the cook.  Hollow eyes

hold camp in the forest of the uncommon.




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