It was a March morning, gloomy and drizzling with rain, with a slight chill that reminded her winter was still not quite over. She wanted breakfast, atmosphere, and the sound of voices. So she drove to a local diner. She had wanted to make plans with friends this weekend perhaps lunch, or just hanging out at a friend's house binge watching some addictive TV drama but no one was available--story of her life. At the far end of the counter she sat with a book of poetry. She preferred to read novels, but she was a poet. Ordering French toast, a medium orange juice, and a side of corned beef, she soaked in her surroundings. Smoke rising from the grill, a table of small town folks talking about some wedding on the beach, and people in pairs at the counter making conversation. She was the only one who was solo, though it really didn't bother her. Both the waitress and the cook made friendly conversation with her and she was in quaint surroundings. That was enough.
Olivia McGuire
Photo by Olivia McGuire
