Handout

I slid onto the vinyl-covered stool, shoving two grimy quarters across the lineoleum counter, glancing only partially up at the waitress who stood on the other side. I didn't need to pay right away, but I wanted to show I was good for it.

"Coffee, black," I said in what I hoped to be a confident voice.

"Sure, can I get you anything else?" she replied, already filling a cup in front of me. "Doughnut, or something? On the house?"

She knew. I suppose it was obvious.

"No, thank you," I murmured, raising the steaming mug to my lips, already retreating into myself.