settles blackened in the saucer, and the empty restaurant echoes with the sounds of closing. The waiter glances coldly at the empty plate, and phrases his command in the form of a question--"can I get you anything ELSE sir?!" Fumbling through the plastic, I pull out a random choice and say "no thanks," as the waiter scurries off. Momentarily, he comes hustling back, evidently anxious to conclude the transaction and beckon me into the cold outside.
His curt smile is a thin veneer for the seething impatience nestled conspicuously below, and his eyes tell me it's time to move on. As I leave through the front door, the light is extinguished behind me, and I hear the deadbolt turning in the rustly clasp. And into the dark I amble along, where the streetlights don't burn and the moon is hidden behind the clouds.