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Dusk was long gone and the café was dimly lit and lonely. The street outside was quiet, except for a middle-aged man sitting near the door who trembled in his chair, looking nervously around the deserted street. He sat, licking his lips and jiggling his legs. He waited. Impatiently, but he waited.
Taking a sip of his fifth long black for the day, he saw the waiter approaching. The man stared into his eyes, like a predator hungry for the kill.
“You must be wired after all that coffee,” the waiter said. His smile revealed his panic. No customer had ever stayed so long, except that author a while back, but she had been scribbling in a notebook as she watched the customers around her. “We’re about to close, Sir, so I thought I’d ask if there was anything else you needed.”
The man stared at the waiter, his gaze intense and burning. His fingers tapped a rhythm on his mug.
“Waiting for someone? Or...” The waiter trailed off, looking up and down the empty street. Shadows loomed among the buildings. During the day, workers and customers busily inhabited the street like ants. A constant rumble of white noise to infiltrate the day. But on this evening, all was quiet. The soft breeze was the only movement in the street.
“I’m waiting for my meal, actually,” the man replied, his yellow teeth emerging behind tight lips.
The waiter’s eyebrows raised. “Sorry, sir. I don’t remember you ordering any food...” The waiter glanced inside the café.
“No, I didn’t.” The man reached into his bag beside him, bringing out a large kitchen knife. The blade glinted in the streetlight.
“I don’t understand,” the waiter mumbled, quivering. He took a step back.
“My meal,” the man said, moving forward. “It’s going to be you!”