Through the glass, there is a man playing with his food. His salad is finished, so he reads the ketchup bottle.
His eyes dart from his partner, to the side, to the TV screen across from him, to his own hands. Back to the ketchup bottle.
He puts it away and he smiles. Then he raises the glass with the straw to his lips. He checks his watch. Shifts in his seat. Then taps the glass with his drink in it.
Making small talk.
His uneasiness reeks to me, even through the glass window.
When he smiles, his teeth are gritted. He shifts from side to side.
He glances at me warily. Afraid that someone would read his mind?
I have no interest, fool. I am absorbed in my own wonderful mind.
And pretty soon, I will finish my drink. And let you lie in peace.
