Anonymous in a thick sweater, he huddled low over his coffee. The neon of the signs and the occasionally flickering overhead lights made stark shadows on the countertop. A sidelong glance up the length of the counter showed him other hunched forms, spread out singly with empty seats between. At this odd hour, no one was interested in anyone else. They were an assortment of weary outcasts, bodies fighting the dark hours to stay awake a little longer. While the city rose slowly towards the first signs of life for the day, the graveyard shift of the city got a last meal any place they could find open, and looked toward dawn as a time to sink into bed. They did not know him, or even each other, but over a last cup of coffee and a plate of greasy food they were a silent brotherhood.

Prompt: 058 Dinner