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Adelaide B. Shaw

Coffee-Black

A street empty of people. Just the all night diner is open. Plain, devoid of sentimentality. A sickly greenish light streams through plate glass windows. A man sits smoking, his eyes looking straight ahead, expressionless. The woman with him appears more interested in a matchbook cover than in his company. A third customer, a man alone with his back to us, his shoulders hunched. A faceless man in a gray suit. Behind the counter, a young man in a white uniform, a sharp contrast to the darkly dressed customers. He's busy with the dishes and appears to be speaking. Perhaps to himself. No one seems to be listening.

Nighthawks–
waiting the slow hours
till morning