The Copper Penny

   Colonel MacNamara was trying to prize a copper penny from thousands
imbedded in the laminated counter.
   "Honey, it ain't coming loose," Prudy said.  "All the little kids try
that.  You want your usual?"  MacNamara nodded, and kept digging with his
penknife.  "Colonel Mac wants two sunny-side, extra bacon," Prudy called to
Ben in the kitchen.
   When Prudy came around again with the fresh coffee, MacNamara's cup was
full and cooling.
   "Don't like it?"
   MacNamara shook his head.  He'd scored a six-inch divot in the thick
plastic.
   "Wanna purple cow," he said.
   Prudy stepped back.  "You're joking me," she said.  MacNamara's crewcut
was mussed.  His cap was nowhere to be seen.
   Ben hollered that the order was ready.  Prudy backed off, only turning
when she reached the edge of the long counter. 
   "Here's your special," she said, softly.  Things had been tough out at the
base.  First, the gay kid hung himself, and just that morning she'd heard
another rumor:  one of the big brass had been caught wearing a Vietnam
campaign medal he'd never earned.
   "Oh," MacNamara said.  "Where's my Malt-O-Meal?"  His eyes shifted wildly
back and forth.
   Prudy took a deep breath.  "Who do you think I am, Colonel Mac?"   
   "Can I have raisins, please?"
   Prudy turned to see Ben, who leaned over the prep area.  "You'd better get
on the phone," she told Ben.  "I just figured out which one got caught with
that fake Vietnam medal."
   "Christ," Ben said. 
   "Are you my mother?"  MacNamara took a big mouthful of egg and it dribbled
thick and yellow down his chin and over his neatly-pressed collar.  
   He never did get the penny out of the counter.