The Unchanging Ritual of an Unusual Customer
He always arrived at precisely 8:17 a.m. Not 8:15, not 8:20. 8:17. He would gently push the door open, as if not wanting to disturb anyone, and settle into the booth by the window—the one others avoided due to the sunlight being a bit too direct.
His gray coat was always with him, even when the weather turned warm. He would place his hat beside him, order the cheapest item on the menu—an egg, toast, black coffee—and then remain there. For a long, long time.
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