Fugitive

The bell dinged as a man walked into the diner. He just sat down, pulled a book out of his bag and started reading. A waitress approached him.

"Good morning sir, can I get you anything?" she asked. It certainly was morning, it must have been 5 AM.

"Yeah, just a large coffee please." He didn't smile, he hardly looked up.

She had her notebook out but didn't bother writing it down. "Alright sir, I'll have that for you in a moment."

She left him in relative peace. He seemed to be reading quickly and intently, though it was the careless intensity of a veteran reader. A few pages later the waitress left him his coffee without a word. He sipped his coffee as he read.

This was all he wanted. Just to be left alone, to read in peace, with a hot cup of coffee in his hand. Maybe to watch the other patrons come in, and see them interact with eachother for awhile. And then he'd leave, just walk out the door and likely never come back to this particular place. But he would come to many others like it, and have a nearly identical experience. The coffee, the book, a little observation.

A few people came in, talking a little loudly for the earliness of the hour. They placed a complex order and sat to wait impatiently, their voices rising the longer they talked. Loud laughter.

Unfortunately, he'd once wanted more than this. He'd wanted to make something, something good, even great. Something that other people would see and appreciate. Something with his name on it. And he'd done it. If he'd never had done it, his more modest desires wouldn't be in jeopardy.

One of the slightly obnoxious people evidently had to use the restroom, and he walked by the mans table en route. He looked at the man sitting there reading, a little too curiously, but he went on his way without saying a word. On his way back however, he gave him only a glance. He let out a whoop.

"Holy cow, it's Philip Knight!"

The other people got up and swarmed over. Philip Knight closed his book and got out his wallet to pay for his coffee.

"Oh, no way, man. I'll get the bill. Stick around and I'll by you breakfast whatever you want!"

Philip Knight just shook his head, putting five dollars on the table. He politely threaded his way through the onlookers, and left the diner. He got back in his car, and started driving.

A couple states over he'd stop in another diner, get another coffee and maybe something to eat. But if someone noticed him again, he'd have to leave again. Maybe just go home, or to a new home. Lock the doors, and lower the blinds. No one would bother him then. But he wouldn't be able to get his coffee, read his book and watch the people.