I walk out of the downpour , into the glass doors into the warm farmer's market. It's about six in the morning on a Tuesday, and the whole building seems deserted. As I walk down the hall, I see some stalls are completely empty, while some are full of merchandise waiting to be sold. I've been here plenty of times before, but it always is slightly eerie to walk around a normally bustling marketplace that has been left practically abandoned.

I am not here however, to shop. I am here to eat. The busiest place of business in this market is the diner. Set smack-dab in the middle of this barn-red building is this cozy, but not so quiet restaurant. Soon enough, I wander through the welcoming door with the ever-present OPEN sign.

The interior of the restaurant is typical for such establishments. Three horse-shoe shaped communal counters lined with red backless stools are manned by elderly waitresses ready to chat and take your order. The walls are decorated not only with today's specials but with the abstract artwork of some of the younger infant customers. A window allows you to see part of the kitchen, but the only thing that is really distinguishable is the food coming out of it. The food is typical greasy-spoon breakfast fare. Omelettes, pancakes, oatmeal, bacon, ham, and any other thing imaginable is on the menu. Veganity is not an option here.

I sit down in my usual spot and Sharon, the waitress comes to take my order. I've been coming here with my family for years, and Sharon, (whose age is somewhat indeterminable, since she has really not changed at all in as long as my grandparents have taken me here as a toddler) has practically watched my brother and I grow up. There are other people in the diner, but not as many as there would be on a Saturday, when I usually come with my family. The main occupants of the stools seem to be older couples getting an early breakfast before doing whatever they do in retirement. Sharon pours some water for me and asks what else I'd like to drink.

"I'll have a coffee, please," I say.

With false suprise, she exclaims, "No hot chocolate today? I just can't get used to you kids drinking coffee nowadays! Why are you here so early, anyways?"

"I came just to see you, Sharon," I reply.

She goes to get my coffee, and asks what I'd like to eat. I order a veggie omelette with whole-wheat toast. She scoffs, because she didn't really need to ask. I order the same thing every time I come here.

I add a few creamers and some Splenda to my coffee while I chat with some of my neighbors. The topic of the day is the Olympics.

"Did you see the opening ceremonies? I can't believe the Queen would parachute onto the field like that!" An old man in overalls and an ever-present grimace said.

"I don't think that was actually the Queen, dear," his wife replies, "it was probably a stunt double. I don't think I've ever seen the Queen wearing pants, much less skydiving!"

My omelette arrives, a greasy concoction of eggs, green peppers, tomatoes, onions, and plenty of cheese with a side of hashbrowns and toast. I begin eating and by the time I finish, I doubt I'll be eating lunch today, I'm so full. Sharon insists I take a Tootsie Roll from the jar she saves especially for her young customers. I take a pomegranate one (I had no idea those existed until now) to humor her. I kind of like being treated like a kid again, heck I am a kid! I get the bill and leave a nice tip for Sharon.