Waitress

I saw a woman with lonely eyes sitting at an all night diner. She was pretty and smart looking, as if she benefited from a fancy education. I'm big on clothes, and I noticed her overcoat was worn down at the elbows, frayed at the cuffs; but only slightly. What she wore was expensive, just a bit past its prime, like she had lots of money once. Now she tracked every cup of coffee she drank and every puff she took from rolled cigarettes. Her eyes met mine for a moment. She snuffed a last Marlboro into into an ashtray and took a small sip from a porcelain cup. She left behind a nickel for an absent waitress. Maybe it was my discomfiting stare that chased her away. Maybe she figured me for a blogger, a chronicler of lonely dames in old overcoats with last cigarettes and old coffee to nourish their lives. Or maybe I know less than I think, less than I should. I left a coin on a shiny table and said good night to a waitress in an all night diner.