It’s a terrible day, weather wise. Miserable and grey; windy and wet. The rain is coming down in sheets almost sideways. My tan coloured trenchcoat looks more of a dark brown as I reach the door to the restaurant. “Lovely day ain’t it?” quips a miserable looking waitress. “Yeah, lovely.” I shoot back.
She shows me to the table I had called to reserve the day before, but it turns out there was little point. Other than one man pushing a plate of what looks like pancakes, roast lamb and fish sticks around his plate, I am alone in the open planned room.
I take a seat in the corner booth, and order myself a pot of coffee and a slice of pie. As my subject hasn’t arrived, I take the liberty of ordering her some food, just to make her feel at home.
A few minutes later, the waitress returns with the coffee and a pair of empty cups. She fills one to the brim, leaving almost no room for milk, and heads back to her station. I try to pour a little milk into the top of my cup, but end up overflowing and spilling onto the table. I bring my lips to the cup and sip away a little of the liquid, and simultaneously pat at the puddle on the table with a napkin.
As I look up from the mess I made, a shadow appears across the table.