A fly lands on his plate. He waves to signal it away. It must believe his wave is a greeting since, like an airplane practicing touch and go landings, it soon returns.
Two eggs, over easy, bacon, and toast. Oh, and a cup of coffee. Although calling it coffee may be going too far. It is weak, it is stale, it is disgusting to the last drop.The sign outside says restaurant. Inside it’s all 50’s dive.
Back again is the waved away fly with its sibilant buzz.
He longs for a good dark roast though he is not yet aware of the longing. One day years from now he will shun mochas, cappuccinos, macchiatos, and insist on black, robust, coffee. Coffee that makes the eggs taste better—and the buzzing of the fly tolerable.