A local diner at about seven a.m.

[Aristotelis Orginos]

A man tells a woman she’s beautiful. She looks at him, all standoffish and whatnot. A man tells the same woman he loves her. She turns her head away. The man looks down into the murky cup of his coffee, black, two Splenda.

He never says it, but he would if he had the guts and if he knew her like he wants to and if he didn’t have to leave the diner when he saw the grounds rise like forgotten wishes in the backwashed coffee and maybe he’d also tell her if his damn Hyatt pen worked and he could write his number on the napkin but instead he’ll tip the waiter and leave and forget about it by the next cup of coffee, black, two Splenda.

[Stephen Torelli]

This reminds me of the time-honored railcar diner with stools and a counter and family booths. Nice story of a lonely guy.

[Brittany]

I love stories between cups :) Gita is right, this is perfect.

[Gita]

I like the contrast of the short, clipped sentences against the onrush of words in sentence 6.

Excellent piece. Now, just change the word rinds to grounds and it's perfect.