I’d give anything to be in his shoes right now armed with the comfortable knowledge that i’m walking into Scotty’s diner tomorrow morning for breakfast. My old Italian friend would keep an eye on me because he knew i was a good customer and was grateful for my custom. He would pace up and down closely monitoring the level of coffee in my cup and before it hit the bottom he would appear. “More coffee?” with furrowed brows, to which he would scurry away for more of the steaming hot, smooth, fresh, black liquid. I’d watch as he carefully poured the coffee into my cup, and then the black liquid in the cup would dance and shape into a cloud as i poured in a splash of milk. Magic.