The Life and Times of Johnny Plotpoint

A waitress walked over to his table. "I thought you left, sweety," she said.

"Pardon me?" Johnny said, looking up at her.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. What can I get for you?"

"I'll just have some eggs and bacon with toast."

"Let me guess, rye?"

"O.K." He never knew quite what to order, but sooner or later, the waitress would suggest something, or it would just come to him, if it was important.

"Ain't you hot in that leather?" the waitress asked.

"Not that I know of," Johnny answered, puzzled that she would have asked that. No one had ever asked him that before. Usually, no one questioned anything he said. He just showed up where he was supposed to show up, said what he had to say, then left when he had to leave. He never had to think about it-somehow he always knew where to go, what to say, when to leave-and there were never any questions like these... questions about him.

"Well, you gotta know if you're hot. Do you feel hot?" She asked, her hands on her hips. Johnny didn't know. He had never paid any attention to hot or cold. He was always comfortable, and the sun - as far as he could remember - had always been shining.

"Should I be hot?" he asked, not sure why it mattered so much. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't know the answer to this question. He usually knew things like this when he needed to. Things just weren't falling into place like usual.

"On a day like today? You betcha. It's ninety-five degrees out there. This ain't December." She chuckled a little.

Johnny just sat and stared at the woman. He wanted to say something to her, but he wasn't sure what he should say. He simply took his jacket off and put it on the seat next to him. He looked up at her and smiled.

"There, now don't you feel better?" she asked, smiling at him. Johnny wasn't sure one way or the other, so he just nodded and continued to stare at her. "Good. How you want your eggs?"

Again, Johnny just stared at her blankly, waiting for something to tell him how to order his eggs. Nothing came to him.

"What are my options?" He asked, hoping this would trigger something in his memory.

"The standards. Scrambled, sunny-side up, over easy. Whatever you want, we can fix you up." She smiled.

Johnny smiled back. He usually didn't pay much attention to that sort of thing, and he honestly couldn't recall having a preference. Meals were usually just an excuse for him to talk to someone that he needed to talk to, and he usually didn't eat anything.

"Just give me what you like," he said, finally, thinking he had figured it out.

"I don't eat eggs," the waitress said. Johnny just looked at her, his smile fading. The waitress seemed to notice this. "I'll have the cook fix 'em up for you." She scribbled on her pad. "What about the bacon?"

"What about it?" Johnny asked, afraid that she would ask more questions.

"Crispy?"

"Yes?" he said, unsure what she meant by that. She nodded.