On any normal autumn day,one could be seen strolling the streets downtown, stopping here and there for flowers, pumpkins and the usual fall decorations that accompany the season.  It was several weeks before Halloween, so among the windows of the retail stores of an age gone by were the usual white sheet ghosts and corn stalks.  But this wasn't a day gone by.  It was today.  And one particular shop, still steeped in decor from yesteryear, was the local diner.
     It sits one corner, by a 4 way stop sign.  On the kiddie corner stands the old brick Court house.  directly across the street sits a five and dime, seemingly unchanged from the days of Five and Tens.  On the other side, the empty lot where the kids still gathered for a pick up game of baseball, or as the weather now dictated, football.  What had stood there before the lot had been cleared was an old pickle factory.  It had gone the way of many factories, but not in the usual financial way.  The owner had passed on over 30 years ago and had stipulated in his will that the factory was to close and the spot left clear for future generations of children to play.  No one had questioned, no one had tried to buy the lot.  It was for the kids.
     So, the diner had the perfect view of the town's going's on.  And on this early morning the smell of fresh baking bread wafted from the kitchen.  The broad window that overlooked the tree corners there was seated an elderly gentleman.  He was here every morning.  A fixture really.  He kept to himself and his newspaper, his yellowed white hair hanging over his eyebrow, his gnarly hand occassionally  reaching around the newpaper for the black coffee which was refilled by the waitress who walked back and forth through the kitchen door.  The old door, in the old diner, was silver with two convienent round windows to peer into or out of.  There was no one else here yet.  It was the beginning of a new morning in the little town, in this sidewalk dinner, and in this very year.
    A customer opened the door and jingled the bells, ancient, hanging over the door.  He was a youngish looking man, in his mid thirties, dark haired, average height, but with the most outstanding blue eyes.  He looked around the place as though not familiar with it.  There was the counter with 5 or 6 swivel stools, worn red and white seats.  The tables all boosted laminate gray tops with salt and pepper, sugar and ketchup bottles clumped in the middle.  The silverware rolled in paper napkins.  He looked toward the kitchen doors on this side of the building, another set of doors with windows.  Coming through it now with the coffee pot was Amy, the waitress.  She had  a saucer and cup in that brown paper bag color of yesteryear.  She smiled a crooked tooth smile at the customer and pointed with the pot, table or counter.  He chose the first spot at the counter which sat next to an ancient cash register, rusted gold with a $ sign in Old English text in the top window.
   Still not speaking, the waitress poured  a cup of coffee before the he could offer any alternative.  He was enamored with this place out of time.  The girl looked to be in her early twenties, maybe a college age student, he thought.  Dirty blonde hair tied up in a ponytail.  She wore a white apron with pink trimming and as she took out the pad and pencil to take his order before even allowing him to see the worn out menu standing between a bottle of ketcup and  syrup.
     Smiling that crooked toothed smile, she was a pretty girl with hazel eyes, but nothing outstanding about her.  She stood there  without a word, pencil in hand.
     "Could I have a moment please?" He cleared his throat.  He had very white teeth.  The old blacket jacket he wore almost looked out of place, too new.
     "Oh sure, sorry honey .  I'm just used to the people who usually come in.  You're a stranger here aren't you?"
     "Just passing through."  He smiled as she reached over and handed him the plastc cover menu stained from constant use. 
   " You want creamer for that coffee?" She pointed to the cup with her pencil.
    "Well, no actually..."
     Before he could say he didn't really drink coffee, she turned on her sneakered foot and disappeared behind the two round windows.