In a man’s world, I walked into a diner and ordered a ham and swiss sandwich and a side salad. I unfurled the morning paper, and before I was able to find the sports section, I was already scowling at the waiter behind the counter, because I had forgotten to order a large cup of coffee and a small carton of whole milk. I was well aware that I was mixing meals and hours of the day, but I liked playing the role of the victim, no matter how strange the job or method of egotistical love. As usual, the ham was undercooked and the swiss resembled a swath of melted glue. There was never any charge nor conversation. I always left the salad alone and resisted the urge to use the bathroom. The newsprint had been perused, and was now randomly carved and strewn across the floor. I jogged to the entrance, accompanied by a series of odd looks and friendly animation…it hardly seemed convincing. No one’s life would be any richer…if they knew the start of tonight’s baseball game had been pushed back to 8.