Her glasses were cat-eyed, of course.
She entered the small restaurant with a ding-ding and walked straight through to the cash register in the back. It was a thai restaurant but had a diner feel to it, the way the fluorescent lights were too bright and the only music was a soft drone of something indistinguishable coming from the kitchen.
She came in out of the drizzly rain, of course.
The short man behind the counter asked her ‘can I help you,’ of course.
She thought ‘sigh’ but said ‘I placed an order.’ The man went to grab a paper bag near the kitchen.
She was coming from work. Friday night. At long last. She was going home to her little green maple street shotgun house and her fuzzy puppy named Eliot, of course.
She looked down at the bottom of the counter where a million shoes had kicked the oddly chosen light blue paint, then over to the table of students attacking a small plate of spring rolls.
On the wall was a photograph of several preteen asian men in matching outfits with a pastel backdrop in a gold frame. Outside there was some lightening.
‘Here you are ma’am’ he said and she handed over some money out of her patchwork shoulder bag.
It was coconut soup, of course.