The Morning After the Will Reading, Her Lawyer Handed Me a Metal Lunchbox

7:30.

First booth by the window.

Black coffee.

Toast burned slightly darker than normal.

And complaints about almost everything.

The first time I waited on her, she squinted at my nametag.

“Daniel,” she said. “You look exhausted.”

“Long week.”

She snorted. “Try being eighty-four.”

That was basically our friendship beginning.

After that, she always asked for continue reading …