His Favorite

“May I have another cup of coffee?” I asked my ever-present waiter.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter answered, “Black, no cream, no sugar.”

“Correct,” the I answered.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” the waiter smiled.

Quietly, I got up from my place at the table and moved across the kitchen to the coffee pot and poured a cup. Once I set it in front of where I’d been sitting, I sat down myself.

Smiling up at the waiter, I said, “Thank you.”

Since then, I’ve noticed that he seems to hover very near where I’m seated. Perhaps, I’m his favorite.