Sitting in the back corner of the smoking section at Denny’s it was possible to see everything that was going on; it was the perfect place for people watching. Just as the day crowd has a certain type of people who are more apt to come in, so too does the night. The might manager, a short African American woman, no more than 5’4”, was running about, hopping from table to table. No matter how flustered she got, and no matter how many things went wrong, she may have looked harried, but she never let anything truly get to her, always with a genuine smile on her face.

At the next table, over to the left, was a tattered looking man. He was present on the same corner, day after day, always with the same sign, “My wife died of cancer. I can’t go back to work yet. I’m lost without her. Please help.” He was slumped over the table, resting his head on his arms, with a cup of coffee held between his hands. He appeared, in all senses and to all senses, as though he had not had a shower in several days, and his clothes were well worn and slightly dirty. His shoes looked like they had seen better times, with a few holes patched over the outsides in duct tape.

At the table to the right were three students with textbooks spread out, power cords stretching across the walkway, and three laptops plugged into various walls. There were a host of printouts spread out, two tablets out, and three smart phones. To the other side of the worn down man, there was a middle aged man, wearing crocs with socks, blue jeaned hemmed shorts, a white polo shirt, and a brown baseball cap with no team insignia. The table on the other side of the students contained a man and a woman in their late twenties, wearing cowboy boots and Wrangler jeans. The man was wearing a t-shirt with the words “Blame my parents” on it, and the woman was in a black tank top and black zip up hoodie.

The night manager was serving the tables in the smoking area as two of her staff had called in, stating that they would be late; they rode together and they were stuck on the highway as a result of an accident in the area. The night manager came over frequently to check on the man who was down on his luck, to see if he needed anything. She was always very polite, seeing if she could get him anything else, and trying to coax him to order something to eat. He stated he did not receive enough while panhandling that day to be able to afford more than a cup of coffee.

She handled the students, and then went over to her final table; they called her closer, and it was clear they were her regulars, as she slid in the booth right next to them and took a drag off of the woman’s cigarette. Their heads got real close together and after whispering for a little while, she milled with a smile to light up the room, and went over to put in their order. A little while later she brought them their food, and then took a roast beef meal to the man who was down on his luck and told him to eat, advising him that someone else had bought it for him and so he needn’t worry about money, just eating.

The couple in their late twenties left after about forty five more minutes of talking to teach other and the night manager. They had no reason to buy the man dinner, save he was a man in need, and they could help. When he finished his roast beef, thanked the manager and left, she started cleaning off his table with tears in her eyes. He left her the cost of the coffee on the table with a forty cent tip, discussing his generosity, even in his hard times, with herself.