I own a small bakery. Open at 5 AM. Close at 2 PM.

Every morning this homeless man sat outside. Never asked for anything. Just sat there.

One cold morning I brought him coffee and a pastry.

“What’s your name?”

“James.”

We talked. Turns out he was a veteran. Lost everything after his wife died. PTSD. Couldn’t hold a job.

“James, I open at 5 AM. It’s dark. Cold. Lonely. Want to keep me company? I’ll pay you in breakfast.”

He looked suspicious. “Why?”

“Because I hate being alone in the dark.”

He showed up next morning. We didn’t talk much. He just sat in the corner, drank coffee, ate breakfast.

Week two, he started washing dishes. Said he needed something to do.

Month three, he was helping me bake. Turned out he’d worked in a bakery forty years ago.

Six months in, customers started requesting “James’s cinnamon rolls.”

I made him assistant baker. Minimum wage. Health insurance. He cried when I told him.

Two years later, James manages the morning shift. Hasn’t missed a day. Last month, a young homeless vet started sitting outside. James brought him coffee. A pastry.

“What’s your name?”

“Marcus.”

James looked at me. I nodded.

“Marcus, I open at 5 AM. Want to keep me company?”

Now Marcus washes dishes. Learning to bake.

We call it the 5 AM Club. Because sometimes morning coffee changes everything.

—Sarah, bakery owner​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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