#27 Making the Best of it

Footsteps clicked on the wooden floor of the restaurant, the waitress walking to the front door to greet a diner.

Not him.

The echoes of her footfalls serve to highlight how empty this place is at 9pm on a Wednesday night.

He was supposed to be here at 7:30.

At 8:00 she had gone ahead and ordered.

Third time he had stood her up in seven dates.

This time he hadn’t event texted, let alone called.

When she had ordered the second glass of wine, the waitress had smiled sympathetically and left the bottle.

Might as well finish it.

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