Little Happy Clouds

“Some more coffee, hon?” The waitress lifted the carafe to top off his cold, half-finished cup of joe.

“He should be in the Hall of Fame, you know.” He said, staring out of the diner window.  “I mean, he’s no Tom Seaver, but fuck that guy anyway.”

“Guess not.” The waitress put the carafe down and walked away.

“Old bag. She’s probably a Phil Niekro fan,” the man grumbled as he rose from his booth. After gathering his tattered wind breaker and wool cap, he laid down his payment for breakfast. $9.76 for the eggs, and a Bert Blyleven Diamond King for her troubles.

“Always a king, Bert.”