Sal sits with a cup of coffee and a paper at a simple yet upscale diner. The only other open seat is next to him. A white man in his late twenties sits down next to him. The attending black waitress pours him a cup of coffee.
MICK: Thanks, sweetheart. Hey, listen, I wanna offer my condolences. It was a great man your people lost.
She develops a look of consternation, but fights to be friendly.
WAITRESS: …Thank you.
She finishes pouring the cup and walks away.
MICK: Crazy day, huh, pal?
SAL: I’ll sip to that.
MICK: He was doin’ a lot o’ god, too.
MICK: I fought in Vietnam. Lotta young men, black, white, red, yellow, all of ‘em layin’ it on the line, puttin’ their country and their families ahead of themselves.
SAL: You have any friends that didn’t make it?
MICK: Damn right I did.
SAL: I’m sorry to hear that. Truly. I’m Sal.
A particularly effeminate, well-dressed young man makes his way past the counter. Mick and Sal take notice. Mick chuckles as the man passes.
MICK: Goddamn Queers. Just about lost my appetite, huh?
Mick laughs. Sal forces a grin.
MICK: Gotta hit the can. Be right back.
Mick stands up and saunters to the bathroom. Sal finishes the last of his coffee, puts a few dollars on the counter, extinguishes his cigarette in Mick’s fresh cup of coffee, and exits the diner.