Greg Does the Books

Greg only comes in when the numbers are bad. He sat in the back booth with the laptop and the shoebox of receipts and he didn't order anything, which is how I knew. Greg always orders. When Greg doesn't order, the diner is in trouble. I brought him coffee anyway and stood there a second too long and he looked up and said don't, and I said don't what, and he said don't ask. So I didn't ask. I wiped down tables that were already clean. Marisol caught my eye from the kitchen pass and did the little money rub with her fingers and I shrugged. Outside a bus went past empty and lit up like a fish tank. Three more years on the lease, I thought. Maybe.