The Man Who Orders Toast

He comes in at 2am and orders toast and a glass of milk and he reads the same newspaper every time, I think he carries it with him. Marisol calls him the Professor but I don't think he professes anything. I think he just can't sleep and the diner is warm and we don't make him leave. That's most of what a diner is for, honestly. Warm, and nobody makes you leave. I bring him the toast. He always says thank you young man even though I'm thirty-four and going grey at the sides. The milk has to be cold, properly cold, he sent it back once and I wasn't even annoyed, I just got him a colder one. You learn people. You learn that the toast isn't about toast. He sat there till the sky went the colour of dishwater and then he folded his paper and left two pounds under the plate and a note that said see you and I have it still, in my apron, the note.