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Diner

I wonder if someday I’ll be old and gray and spend late nights sitting at a diner, drinking cups of coffee and reading the newspaper (if newspapers even exist). I don’t think I’d ever eat any of the desserts. From time to time I’d order a tuna salad sandwich with some extra pickles on the side. If I were so inclined to write a novel, it might be the perfect location to draft the story.

I’d probably drive back to the lake house. I’d sit out on the porch for a while, likely drinking a mass-produced though respectable lager by the can. The sound of the crickets would be soothing. Some nights I’d sit there until the sky showed signs of the morning creeping through. Eventually, I’d retire only to wake a few hours later and repeat another day.