The rain relentlessly beat against the windows of the Riverside Diner on a quiet Tuesday evening in late November. Sarah wiped the counter once more, doing it more out of habit than any real need. Only four tables were occupied: a couple arguing in hushed voices, two truck drivers nursing cups of coffee, and a solitary man in the corner booth, who hadn’t looked up since settling in forty minutes earlier.
He wore a faded gray coat with the collar pulled up, a knit cap low over his forehead. His shoulders drooped, weighed down by something far heavier than the tattered backpack by his side. He hadn’t ordered anything—just sat there, his hands wrapped around a glass of water that had long since lost its ice.
Sarah had seen this type of situation before—too many times in this town. People struggling to stay warm without spending money they couldn’t spare. The diner’s policy was clear: no free food, no lingering. Mr. Harlan, the manager, enforced it strictly. Just last month, he had kicked out a teenage runaway for simply asking for extra ketchup.
