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The diner was bustling with the usual morning crowd.
Regulars came and went, their faces as familiar as my own reflection.
But today, my mind was elsewhere, lingering on the scene at the bus stop.
I poured coffee, took orders, all on autopilot.
Each clang of the kitchen bell pulled me back momentarily.
But the image of the man, his weary face, wouldn’t leave me.
“You okay?” Sarah, one of the other waitresses, asked as she passed by.
“Yeah, just a long night,” I replied, forcing a smile.
Sarah nodded, sympathy in her eyes.
