The detective smiled slightly at the man from his past. He settled into the booth, putting the briefcase beside him. They'd had words long ago. Or it seemed like long ago, so long ago, he felt like he was a different man.
"It's not really its fault." As if the diner were a living creature. "It's a diner. Tea's not really something you get a Greasy Spoon. A cafe maybe, but not a diner. Not unless it's one of those high end places where everyone wears vintage and really loved irony." He smirked, not really minding that he had a penchant for vintage, sort of. The hat was now settled on the briefcase.
"Yeah, I'll take a cup of what he's having." Why Max felt the need to goad the man across from him, he really couldn't say. There was a strange feeling about the guy, and Max had been curious more than once that the meeting had even happened.
"And hashbrowns?" Max had been often enough for the woman to know that he did indeed have a regular order of this or that.
"Sure. Toast, too. Thanks." His attention shifted back to the man. "Long way from home."