It felt like hours waiting for Leroy to finish. I took the order of a man with a Chicago Bulls Greats shirt, and some truckers pouring Jim Beam into their coffee. They asked me for an extra cup which they placed at the empty seat on their table, for absent friends, they said. I cleaned down the counter top, restocked the sugar packets, and took out the trash, ignoring the man in the rabbit mask that often waits out by the dumpsters.
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