Famished people jostled for position by the door. Joe grabbed a fresh pot of brew and headed to the end of the counter where the old man had sat slumped over his cup for an hour now.
The intent was not to warm his coffee but to nudge him into paying his bill and making room for someone else.
‘Sir,” Joe started, but the old man was asleep, one hand tucked under his chin, the other curled slightly around the empty mug. A hint of a smile touched his lips.
The noontime rush could wait. This seat was still taken.