The inside was just as simple. There were cream-colored booths flanking the two outer walls, a cash register at the door, and a long counter along the back wall with a line of matching cream-colored swivel stools. Behind the counter was the area for the cooks and the orders to be filled. There was a glass case with brightly colored desserts neatly placed inside. Three ceiling fans rotated slowly and their low hum was the only noise as Jim entered.

A woman at one of the booths looked up from her meal, nodded to the stranger in town and went back to eating. Two little boys of Indian decent wearing cowboy hats were seeing which one could spin the fastest on their swivel stools. Their behavior caused a young waitress to bend down and whispered something to them. An older man stood near the cash register and studied his receipt as if it were a tax audit.

"Go on and have a seat wherever you like. I'll be right with you," the same young waitress. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a hand-written menu of daily specials.

Jim went directly to the counter and sat down on one of the stools. After being outside for the better part of the day he did not want any parts of a window. A day in the sun left him wanting to be indoors. The feeling was a flip-flop from when he worked for the newspaper. After going at it all day in a dim, stuffy office listening to phones ring and fax machines hum, he came home to sit on his pack porch under the stars just to be outside.