The old man eyed the small cafe from afar, studying with intense concentration. He had to be sure to pick the right one. He headed down the street towards a small cafe, reaching the doors as soon as they flipped the sign to “Open.”
After ordering his breakfast, he limped over to an unassuming booth and settled into a comfortable position. The waitress tidied her hair, and he waited.
First came the nurse, dark circles underneath her eyes from finishing her night shift, ordering a deluxe roast beef sandwich with a side of salad. She must have been a regular since the waitress didn't bat an eye at the strange “breakfast.”
Next was the businessman. There was a streak of gray in his hair he could no longer hide and his hand gripped tightly around his custom leather briefcase. Flipping open his wallet to pay for his Big Original Breakfast, the old man glimpsed a picture of what seemed a younger version of the man, standing in front of the doors to Wellington College, where the faculty served more as babysitters than educators. No, this man definitely didn't need his help.
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