Three Green Notebooks Left in a Cedar Chest on Elm Street

wool coats and fried onions hung heavy in the warm air of the entryway.

Frank, the retired archivist, was sitting in the corner booth under the yellowed sign that advertised the daily special. A single white mug sat in front of him, the steam long gone.

“It is a dollar and fifty cents for a cup now,” Frank said as I slid into the booth opposite him. continue reading …