The black coffee sitting halfway down the white mug had started to leave a ring around the inside that lingered whenever Stephen picked it up and tilted it one way or the other.

He had not sipped from it in the past half hour, ever since the appointment time for his meeting with his father's social worker had come and gone.

He kept glancing between his phone and the diner's analog clock,

as if somehow the split second in between would reveal some sort of discrepancy that he had missed.

He had even texted the social worker and called the office, but it was a dead end both ways.

The diner's front door swung open,

knocking the side of the scuffed bell

that dangled just above the top corner.

Stevens had came up and he finally set eyes

on the red-faced, beetle-shaped man,

who had been juggling his father's case

for the past three years.

The caseworker went up to the bar

and muttered something to the waitress

while shuffling some vanilla folders around in his hands.

She pointed towards Stephen's table

and the caseworker's exhausted eyes

followed the line of her finger.

Stephen raised his cold coffee cup

and a half-hearted greeting.

The caseworker shuffled over to the table,

snorting and rubbing his nose before holding out his hand. Stephen didn't take it. Instead, he just

...