"It takes all kinds," the man softly muttered, swirling his coffee in its stained coffee mug. He took a sip, winced at its luke-warm bitterness, then pulled himself slowly to his feet.
He nodded once at his half-finished breakfast, and again at me. "It takes all kinds," He said, staring at me with colorless eyes. We held that gaze for no longer than a second, and then he turned away.
Then, without so much as a glance at the other patrons, he shuffled out. I watched him go, chewing his last words while cleaning up the slight mess he left on the counter.
What did he mean by that? Why did he say it? I dropped the old plate into it's plastic collector, and idly tossed the fork and knife in with it. That completed, I took the coffee pot off its burner and circled the restaurant, still mentally questioning his phrase. It really didn't seem to make any sense.
It was about five minutes after he shuffled out of sight that I realized he hadn't paid.