The old haunt

It’s weird, but now I’m one of the café regulars.

The man who buys peanut butter pies made an appearance, standing and holding a glass bottle of cream soda in one hand. He said hello to me, staring with his wide blue eyes and mouth agape, and asked how I was, and said he noticed I don’t work here anymore.

I should have curtsied.

One of the writer guys, who I’ve befriended, said, “You should have told him you wrote a story about him.” I giggled.

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