a pot of coffee.
I’d been working since 5:15 that morning, and I was on my way to refill the Miller boys’ father’s cup when Chad called me into his office.
I was sixty-two years old.
I’d worked at that diner for thirty-eight years.
And I knew from the expression on Chad’s face that I wasn’t going to like what came next.
“We’re making some changes,” he announced. “New image. Younger customers. More modern energy.”
I waited.
“People want to see fresh faces when they walk in.”
Then he
