Maybe Tomorrow

The sign said open, so she went in. She wasn't sure why she stood in line. She didn't want a sandwich. Order by order, she reached the counter. The man behind it welcomed her and smiled and waited for her order. He looked nice, she thought. He doesn't deserve this.

"You're not Stopsky's," she said. "You'll never be Stopsky's." Rage and loss mingled in her voice. She hunched out of line and shouldered out the door while the man stood, dumbfounded.

Outside in the crisp air, she walked. After the third time around the block, she stood and stared at the black awning. The name of the old restaurant was still visible in faint outline behind the new name plastered over it.

Inside, the line had been served. Through the large window, she could see the man behind the counter watching her.

She walked inside and, after a pause as the door swung shut, up to the counter.

"Can I help you?" he asked. He didn't smile this time.

"I'm angry." She couldn't look up from the counter. "But it's not your fault. I'm sorry."

"Okay," he said. "Do you want anything?"

"Maybe tomorrow," she said, on her way out.