The door chimes as a man enters the diner
an artificial yellow glows through the restaurant
wide walls filled with glass allow light
onto surrounding sidewalks and buildings
with empty stores and sleeping people
but these three aren’t sleeping –
one a sad fellow with his wrinkled gray suit jacket three sizes too large
he sits alone
another, a bright red-haired woman with full makeup inspecting her tiny attachable mic
she has tired eyes
and a tall dark-haired man with a classy hat
but his expensive cologne doesn’t expel
the stench of greed.
All sit drinking coffee
they take it without cream or sugar
One could ponder that these three are complete strangers
but I know better
a beggar,a reporter, a cut-throat businessman
What do they have in common?
These people, just a few of the many I serve
coffee to every day are the most interesting
These, my friends, are the Nighthawks.