Coffee at Nana Jones' cafe was a traditional start to his morning. He felt comfortable there, amongst friends, even though he barely knew anyone's full name; Ryan the accountant, who always had a latte and toast every morning at 7.45am; Mrs. Devine who sat on the front porch and smoked her cigarettes and drank umpteen cups of coffee and did little else; Mr. Ross, the miner who called in after a long day in the pit for a Workman's Breakfast; and Nana Jones herself, although barely old enough to have had children of her own, enjoyed using the moniker of her late grandmother.
Kelley, the morning-shift waitress, approached him, her slightly tanned arms laden with serving trays, her sky-blue uniform pulled tight against her hips as she leaned forward to place his breakfast on the table before him. She smiled and they chatted for a few minutes about the weather and the horrible things that the politicians were getting away with, then went back to serving other customers - probably dishing out the same chit-chat that she had afforded him. He stared at Kelley for a few minutes, watching the quick smile appear on her face, the easy manner she had with customers and, if he did say so himself, very nice legs.
An enormous BOOM! echoed through the cafe, shattering windows, upturning furniture and causing all but one person to scurry for cover - screams filled the cafe as the building across the road, the Court House, was quickly engulfed in flames. The man just sat there, dusted himself off, smiled a wry grin, nodded his head ever-so-gently and retuned to his attention to the newspaper.