At five past midnightnunder a flickering OPEN signnthat went out just as soon as i walkednthrough the doornnin the diner, in late julyni found the meaning of lifenand what every patron and waiternwas waiting fornni sat alone in a back boothnstumbled over some half truthn'bout how i was expecting someonenand i'd be needing the extra roomnnthe waitress was listlessnworking over-time and double shiftsnand staring longingly atnthe doornnthe tragic parody of adult lifenwas playing in front of me that nightnlike a dream where you wanna runnbut your legs have all but diednnand i coulda sat with some old friends near the frontnthe uninvited guest in the ntown we're fromnnand discuss the lies we've livednwith the strangers we've becomennor i coulda sat on a barstool andnhad a drinknto forget the things i had to ndo that weeknall the hearts i'd have to breaknand all the homes i'd need to takennor i coulda called over the waitress whoncame undonenconfessed that i'm not waiting nfor anyonenand if you like i think you oughta sit with menwhen you're donennbut the door had just finished nswinging shutnand the manager was spitting andncursing her luck nnthe waitressnwas alreadyngone