It was late October.
I never expected to see him again.
He sat in the back dressed in a white tee shirt, black jeans and some worn out boots, he sat there reading "On the Road" by J. Kerouac.
There was a simplistic beauty about the way he held his hair out of his face and focused on his book.
My shift was almost over yet he never ordered a single thing.
He just sat there, reading.
It wasn't until a pint-sized, crude white haired old lady yelled at me did he notice me looking in his direction.
As soon as I gave this boorish lady her order, I looked up to see him gone.
The dreams returned.
