The man to my right is sipping on a coffee and he reads a well thumbed booked whilst an unopened biscuit packet sits unnoticed next to the book in which he is lost in. I would say he is older than forty but no older than fifty. His hair is slipping away from his forehead and is losing its chestnut color. His grey suit and the time of day – a little after six o’clock – suggests he has not long finished his work. The ring on his hand suggests he has a home to go back to but the time he is taking with each page of his thick paperback suggests otherwise.
Across the room, there is a teenager checking her phone at regular intervals, waiting for someone I assume. She has headphones in and between that and her phone, she doesn’t really seem to be in the room. She was here before me and still hasn’t ordered yet so must be waiting for someone. Her coats is hanging off of the back of the seat in which she is sat. Now she’s typing away again, her face somewhat impassive. Her friend must be late.
At the table near the counter, sits a waitress who has either just got off her shift or is taking a break for something to eat. A cup of coffee and a brownie sits in front of her as, she too, is on her phone. Yet she is scrolling, rather than typing and the light from the screen reflects in the glass of her black framed glasses. She looks a lot happier than the teenager who sits a little bit behind her, smiling as her finger slides down the screen.