Business had been slow recently, and he wasn't quite sure why. He stood, leaning against the counter. There wasn't anyone in the diner. Hadn't been in... God knows how long. Two hours? It had never been like this when Luke ran it, but there you go. He was a necessary part of this town, as much as he had hated to admit it.

He rolled the sleeves of the flannel shirt he was wearing up past his elbows. He moved his feet around. He examined his fingernails. He checked his watch. He looked around for something to do. Wipe down the tables? But they weren't dirty. He had wiped them down during the last lull, a few hours ago, and then cleaned the only two that had been used shortly after those customers had left. Make coffee? For who? Himself? No, he didn't drink coffee. And there was obviously no one coming in for a little while, so why waste it?

He decided that the most productive thing to do would be to fill the ketchup bottles. He got out the huge bottle of ketchup he used and unscrewed all the tops. Amazing how the most productive thing he could find to do had been to fill ketchup bottles. It still amazed him that he worked in a diner. Not that he had had other plans. He guessed that was how he had ended up like this. Lack of planning.

Suddenly, the door swung opened. He jerked his head up to see who was entering. Kirk Gleason. Followed quickly by Patty LaCosta and then by Sookie and Jackson Melville. Was it that time already? He checked his watch, listened for a tick. Useless piece of crap.

He walked over to get the orders of the customers who came in at the same time every day. He knew that they would shortly be followed by Taylor Doose, Lane Kim, by others as well. They had all come from the same place they all came from this time of day. The church.

Every day for the past... God knows how many years, there had been an hour long vigil service from two to three in the afternoon for Lorelai Gilmore. People of all denominations, even people with no religion at all went to the service. He'd been a couple of times, but he felt like a fake, so he sent his prayers from the diner. Once in a while, Luke would come back to the diner, brew some coffee, brew a cup, and leave it on the counter. No one would touch it. That was Lorelai's cup. Like letting Elijah in for dinner.

He went back into the kitchen and started to make the orders. He looked out the little window to the people who had congregated in the diner. Solemn faces, all of them. No spark of happiness. He wasn't going to lie. The town wasn't always like this. Most of the time, people just sort of wandered around, minding their business. Often, when these people, the friends of Lorelai, were at church, you couldn't even tell that anything was wrong. Like the other day, when that city woman had come in and raced out. He remembered stuff like that now. The highliights of his existance.

And then, sometimes, in the late evening, it seemed as though everyone would take their posts, and even these people would seem happy. But he could see the sadness in their eyes over their friend. He had always been good at reading people. Came from being a quiet kid, he guessed. He had always been a people watcher, and as he watched these people now, he could almost read their thoughts, they were wearing them on their faces, clear as a sign.

He brought the orders out from the back and set them down. The group thanked him, ate, payed, and left. He walked over to the tables and began to wash them off. This routine had gotten monotonous and annoying, and even he admitted it. It was at times like this that even he missed Loreali. She had made things interesting in this town, and with her gone, or as Luke demanded you put it, on temporary hiatus, nothing was too interesting here.

He threw the dishrag down on the counter and brewed some coffee, poured a cup in the special blue mug and set it down on the counter.

Come back Lorelai, it's dull as fuck without you around.