The Sins of Yesterday

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He opened the door to the diner and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him. It always did that. It was probably the reason why the pane of glass had a jagged crack running from top to bottom. The crack had been there for as long as he could remember. It was a comfortable reminder of why he came here: no one cared here.
He sat in the same place he always sat: a booth in the back near the bathroom. Dorothy, the only waitress this hole-in-the-wall had to offer, acknowledged him with a grunt and asked if he wanted anything.
“Just a cup of coffee and some pancakes, please.” She oinked with indifference and waddled to the kitchen to put in the order. He watched her pour coffee that probably originated from the same batch he ordered last night, and likely the night before. No one cared.
Dorothy wore a peculiar mixture of boredom and haughtiness on her face that was carved in granite. She was quite an ample woman and her huge, pendulous breasts hung down to her navel. Her makeup was applied hastily, as usual, but her blonde hair and the bone structure of her face hinted at a former beauty. The passing of years had not been kind to her, but she no longer cared. The apron she wore to protect her dress might as well have been left at home as both the 'white' apron and the faded pink and blue dress were stained with splotches of food and grease, sweat and shame.
A plate of questionable pancakes was tossed thoughtlessly in front of him; a oily mug of coffee followed. No syrup or butter were offered, as usual. No cream or sugar were offered, as usual. Splattered coffee ran rivulets in the myriad of scrapes and gouges the table had endured over the years. The table mirrored the rest of the place: broken, beaten, abused... and in...

... middle of paper ...

...re coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.” he replied, setting his empty black coffee mug at the edge of the table. Dorothy poured the thick tar-like liquid into the mug and laboriously tottered away. He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip. The stuff was horrible, but caffeine was caffeine and he needed his mind alert. Now that he had another taste he would not be surprised to learn the coffee was from the same batch he drank a week ago.
He stood up after draining the last of the coffee and put on his overcoat and fedora. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wadded up ball of money, extracted a ten dollar bill, and placed it under his coffee mug. He scooped up the scraps of paper and shoved them into the inner pocket of his overcoat.
As he exited Dorothy squealed something, but he wasn't paying attention to the diner and it's inhabitants anymore. He had work to do.

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