It had been a long day.

And now he walked down the street, looking tired. He supposed that he would have to go home, start looking for a new job.

What was he going to do? If he couldn’t find a job? If he couldn’t afford rent on that tiny old apartment he called home?

He didn’t want to go home, he realized. He didn’t want to have to do all of that.

He just wanted to relax.

So when he saw the cheery neon light in the window of a tiny diner, he turned in, sat down in the booth, and looked over the menu.

A young waitress walked up to him and smiled warmly.

He tried to smile back, and she frowned a bit.

“Are you ok, sir?” she asked, sincere concern in his voice.

Someone he was startled into telling the truth. So he told her about how he had lost his job. How he didn’t know what to do. How he didn’t want to go home yet.

And she had listened, honestly listened. And when he had finished, she left for a moment, and came back with a piece of pumpkin pie.

“On the house,” she said.