He was the dishwasher, busy in the back, his hands covered with
Old news was blowing across the filthy floor
Month to month, year to year
They were old and crusty
She was twenty when the diner was a baby
His voice was rusty from years as a sergeant on "this man's army"
And the sign on the door read "this way out", that's all it read
They sat together in the empty diner
Day to day, to day today
Time measured by the peeling of paint on the luncheonette wall
Gravy
Brilliantine slick, a pot - cleaning dandy
Then they were old, their lives wasted away
He was young and randy
Hair black and wavy
They all run together
Filled with cracked china
