That's where he's been hanging around lately. I hear their coffee is decent. Half and half, a spoonful of sugar, and a dash of shameful regret. He orders his eggs over easy with a side of fresh apologies. The scratchy booth seat squeaks merciless obscenities at him as he shifts uncomfortably because of his aching back and aching conscience. If I were to pass by him at a diner, I doubt I would even recognize him. Guilt tends to deform the appearance, and derange the soul.