Carter slid off his stool at 1:00 PM and walked over to booth four, where Arthur, an old customer, sat alone with a plate of rye toast.
“Mind if I sit, Arthur?” Carter asked, keeping his voice low and gravelly.
Arthur looked up, his eyes squinting under his white eyebrows before he recognized Carter’s face under the faded construction cap. “Sit down, Carter. Haven’t seen you sitting on this side of the counter in a year.”
“Just keeping an eye on things,” Carter said, sliding into the vinyl seat across from him.
“You need to keep both eyes on it,” Arthur said, pointing a butter knife at the front register. “The food still tastes the same, but the service has grown cold over the last six months. It feels like we are bothering them just by walking through the door.”
“Which ones?” Carter asked.
“The young ones,” Arthur said, nodding toward the front counter where Troy and Megan stood whispering. “They don’t print receipts anymore unless you beg for them. Troy told me last week the machine was broken, but I saw it print one for an inspector.”
Carter adjusted his gold wedding band again, the metal cold against his skin. He looked back at the register, where Troy was leaning against the counter.
“They are fast,” Carter said quietly.
“Too fast,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “They don’t care about this place, Carter. They are just waiting for the day they can leave.”
Carter stood up, leaving a five-dollar bill on the table for his coffee. He walked toward the register where Troy was now standing alone, Megan having disappeared into the back storage room.
Troy did not look up as Carter approached the counter. His fingers were resting on the register drawer, his knuckles white against the metal.
“Have a good afternoon,” Carter said.
Troy slides the drawer shut with a sharp click that makes the silver spoons rattle.
By eight o’clock the next morning, the rattling had stopped, replaced by the steady, high-pitched hum of the old milk dispenser in the corner.
Carter sat on the far end stool, his faded blue construction cap pulled down to shadow his face.
Near the entryway, Henry slowly pushed a wide broom across the black-and-white tile, his movements measured and deliberate.
