Cuppa Coffee
“Just gimme a cuppa coffee,” he muttered. We called him Zorro because he wore a black hat and an oversized black duster every day of the year—hot or cold, it didn’t matter.
Some days Zorro had a few bucks and ate eggs, pancakes, bacon. Some days were just coffee days. I gave him a full pitcher of cream with his coffee.
If we had day-old pastry on Zorro’s lean, just-coffee days, I offered it to him free, but today we didn’t have any. I sneaked a glance at Mike on his stool over by the register. He was watching. Damn. He didn’t like me letting Zorro drink up a whole pitcher of cream. Might cost him a quarter . . .
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