table for one
There is a Subway sandwich shop on the dog walk route. It does probably the best business of any shop on the walk. There are often people there. Probably that makes the people at the new Pan Asian restaurant next door insane. They do not have a lot of business yet and I worry about them. The men who operate that restaurant are very nice and like dogs and I wish they had more business.
A man used to eat at Subway every night. An older man. I am bad at ages but he was probably a hard worn fifty-something or sort of worn sixty-something. He had thick white hair and one of those larger than life Irish faces you expect to see on a cop in a movie. His nose and cheeks had that broken out red that usually means a life affair with Irish whiskey.
Every night at six the dogs and I would walk past Subway. And every night at six he would be there. At a table for one. In the window. Eating his sandwich.
Or, if we were early, he would be walking to Subway. Passing us on his way in.
I think the Irish man had diabetes or Parkinsons. His feet were not good. So he walked slowly. Carefully. With that walk older people with bad toes have. That careful, do not lift your foot too high off the ground walk.
And every night at six he was there.
At a table for one.
And then one night he was gone.
I have never seen the Irish man again.
That makes me sad.
Your Table For One Adams Girl
