(Author’s note: No note, just write!)
by Miles H. Rost
“We’re locking up.”
The waitress teared up as we put on our jackets. I grabbed the last piece of biscuit on my way to the register.
I looked around at the reminiscent decor, all the things I loved that were on shelves just below the ceiling. I pulled a $100 out of my wallet, and gave it up.
“Are you sure…”
“Honey, this place gave me memories. Whatever isn’t for the bill, split it among you three.”
She finished ringing us up, smiling through it.
We walked out the door and saw her turn the sign to closed.