A small gesture

To escape a week of frantic ramblings from attorneys and paralegals (and the monotony of eating a salad everyday for lunch) I've decided to dine alone every Friday as a mini retreat from the office and a nice gesture to myself. I stroll into the almost deserted diner around 2p.m., the same staff there every Friday to greet me. Since I order the exact same thing (garden burger and an iced tea) the guy behind the counter doesn't even bother handing me a menu. Some Fridays I tell him, "I'm feeling wild today. I'd like a diet Coke," to which he typically responds "don't get too crazy." I've always had a great love of diners, and this is clear proof of a dying breed of nostalgic Americana suffocating in the belly of the financial district. I realize there are other diners (albeit several blocks away) but this one seems to thrive in the middle of the lion's den.