She likes her coffee black and her juice fresh-squeezed. She asks for white, not wheat, and no butter, please. She wears dresses every day. She leaves a good tip. She waits on the bench, legs crossed at the knee, eyes far away, pretending to read the specials. You think she’s on a diet. You think she works next door. You know nothing about her, really, except that she’s kind, and she likes her coffee black, and today when you brought her change, there were tears in her eyes. You say ‘have a good day’ and you mean it.