JOHN SAT ALONE AT A WIDE REAR TABLE at Gray’s Diner sipping his second cup of coffee. He still sported a sore ankle from stepping off the curb two days earlier trying to move out the way of four girls coming the other way who insisted on walking side by side.

The bell above the front door tinkled and Fred walked in, grabbed a copy of “The Grit” from the wire rack, said good morning to Dottie the hostess and owner as she scurried up and down the counter with her sloshing coffee pot refilling customer’s cups, and walked directly to John’s table.

By the time Fred removed his light blue jacket and sat down, Dottie had his coffee in front of him. “Just two slices this morning, Dot.” She gave him a friendly exaggerated wink as she adjusted the sugar packets.

“So, where have you been?” asked John, twirling his coffee cup slowly in its saucer between all 10 fingers. “I’ve been here twenty minutes. Watch it, there’s some skin on the cream.”

Fred shrugged and gave his tan coffee a vigorous stir. “I got in the car and noticed my shirt smelled. I must have grabbed a used one. I had to go back upstairs and change. Then I found the shirt I had on yesterday had an open pen in the pocket. Big blue stain. I spent ten minutes trying to scrub it out. No luck. I’ll stop at Goodwill on the way home.”

“I had a favorite shirt once,” said John, reminiscing. “I kept it for thirty years. Margaret was always trying to throw it out. She raised a fit every time I wore it. She hated that shirt. It had shiny buttons and one at the bottom was missing. I’d just tuck it in, but sometimes my navel would show. Used to drive her crazy.”

The doorbell tinkled and Ed showed up. As he walked along the long counter toward their back table he yelled out, “Hey, Dottie. I can’t believe you let bums like this in your establishment.” He pointed jokingly toward John and Fred. Dottie gave him a friendly exaggerated wink and waited on someone else.

Ed sat down with a plop and slapped his palms on the table, then rubbed them together and grinned. “Took Bessie to the garage for a checkup. Tire pressure was perfect. Oil was topped. Hoses were firm. There was nothing to do. Sammy didn’t charge me. He told me to get the hell out and stop bothering him.”

“You’ve always babied that car,” said Fred. John nodded in agreement. “You should pay as much attention to your front lawn.”

“Ah, my gardener quit. Didn’t even tell me. Just stopped showing up. I’ve been waiting him out. Guess I’ll have to dust off my mower and do it myself.”

“I have a spare mower if you need one,” said Fred. “I bought me a new one last year, a Toro, with a drive motor in it that turns the wheels. Much easier, especially on my back slope.”

“I have a Honda,” said Ed. “It’s got the motor. It just hasn’t been run in a few years. I couldn’t get it started last night. Maybe I can bring it over Wednesday morning and you can take a look at it.”

Dottie returned with Fred’s two poached eggs, two bacon strips, home fries with the peppers and onions in it, and a sprig. “Just coffee, Ed?’

Ed gave a nearly imperceptible but sufficient twitch of approval. He was paging through “The Grit.” She reached around and refilled John’s third cup, and the coffee didn’t stream slowly from the pot. After 45 years in the restaurant business, Dot was able to tip the pot down and back in an instant and have exactly one cup fall out without a drop spilled. John nodded his thanks. Dot gave him her wink.

“Did you ever buy new shoes and have only one of them fit right?” Fred asked the table.

Both men nodded with smiles of fond memories of annoying shoes. “I’m wearing a pair right now,” said John. “At least they used to fit bad, fifteen years ago when I bought them. They fit fine now.”

Everyone laughed. “That’s one way to solve the problem,” said Ed.

“I just got me a new pair last week at the outlet stores,” said Fred. “Toes on my right foot are just about rubbed raw.”

“I think those outlet stores are all full of rejects,” said John. Ed nodded absently. He was still reading “The Grit.”

“I’m tempted to buy two pair next time I buy shoes,” said John. “One size eleven, one eleven and a half. My right foot is bigger, I swear. I think it’s flat. The arch has collapsed. Probably from jumping off the back of my hay truck for thirty years.”

“Hm. Well, what do you know,” said Ed, his nose in the paper.

“What?” asked John and Fred together.

“It says here that farmers can stop their cows from drooling.”

Fred pushed himself back from the table with both hands and looked up at the ceiling. “That’s a load of bull. My cows drool like faucets all day. That’s why my shirts stink. How do they do it?”

“It gives the solution right here,” said Ed, putting his finger on the words. Both men leaned in for the revelation.

“It says, ‘Teach them to spit.’”

Everyone laughed.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.