The man who had taken up unwelcome residence at my booth was arranged sloppily, one arm thrown over the back of the seat. His necktie lapped at the tabletop like a dog’s tongue, working side to side with his gestures.
“I can tell you all day that the place is very clean,” he said, “but you won’t understand until you go there. It’s spotless. Sterile.”
He grinned and I caught the liquor on his breath. There was liquor in his eyes, too, a kind of simmering dreaminess. This was a man too steeped in this very moment to care about much else.
— Read the rest of the story over at The Assortment —
