Eating in a diner

The last day I attended class at the University of North Carolina, I stopped in a diner that I had never seen before, one that stood overlooking the road linked Durham and Chapel Hill. I ordered breakfast because it was mid-morning. The other patrons — the regulars — all turned to look at me, giving me that interested stare that they gifted all strangers. Then, to a person, they resumed chatting or looking in their coffee cups. I ordered pancakes with a side of sausage, then spent the meal cutting pieces off the pancakes never looking at the other customers. When the waitress slammed the bill on the table, I was staring at the lingering grease and maple syrup. This was a last day and I was sad.