Sylvia’s Diner

Sometimes in the middle of a memory we find that little tid bit that takes our breath away and makes us wonder. Isn’t the wonder the stuff that paints our world?

No I’m not talking about the fluff or sappy stuff that Madison Ave pours over or lives on a daily basis. I’m talking about the real wonder we experience when we understand something for the first time, really understand it.

Today’s 100 word story is entitled, Sylvia’s Diner


Bundles of newspapers waited impatiently for Sunday brunch customers at Sylvia’s Dinner, its tag” if it ain’t fresh we don’t have it.”

Talking was frowned upon, reading comics, reviews and the obituary’s encouraged.

A table near a window was the goal, watching all the decked out church goer’s come and go the highlight film.

Fresh squeezed OJ was only an arms length away, even closer was Sylvia who roamed from table to table refilling everyones coffee and smiling with those cosmic eyes of hers.

I wonder did everyone have cosmic eyes then, am I too cynical to see them now?

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