The Green Owl Nick Geiser

The cordial bustle that perpetually flowed through the diner no longer flowed. Conversations stopped. Waitresses stood still, and the clinks and clanks of silverware could no longer be heard. All that I could hear were the dismal tones of “Taps,” coming from the grieving television.

To make the summer following my junior year "memorable," my family thought spending three weeks in Boca Raton with my Uncle Bob would be in my best interest. I wanted to spend that July with my friends in Dallas. To Dallas, however, I went.

The first thing I learned about my uncle is that he is a "breakfast man." He was devastated when I told him I don't eat breakfast, but he got over it in about a week. The Saturday of my departure, however, my uncle insisted that we go to his favorite "breakfast joint" one last time before I left. His favorite “joint” was The Green Owl, a pleasantly quaint breakfast diner, seated amongst a handful of gaudy establishments emblematic of Boca Raton. "The Owl," my uncle called it, attracted wholesome people. Some patrons were single, some married, and some had families, but all of them contributed to The Owl’s cozy, familial setting.

That Saturday, The Green Owl was immensely...