He Left Me a $100 Tip Every Sunday — I Never Imagined Who He Really Was
Every Sunday morning, without fail, he sat in the same booth near the window. Plaid shirt. Black coffee. Pancakes he barely touched. And a $100 tip folded neatly beneath the plate. At first, I thought he was just one of those rare, generous regulars — the kind you silently thank the universe for when rent…
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