Low Season — Pullover Hoodie

I would like to go at the wrong time. Too late for the lunch crowd, too early for the evening, on the day when nobody is photographing how well the place is doing. I would like to get the seat by the window without having developed a strategy for it.

The blue hoodie is coming. I want that much blue, with the pale pink appearing inside the hood when I leave it down. Dark trousers, ordinary shoes. I have no ambition to look as though I have discovered an exclusive destination. I would be delighted to discover a room with four empty tables and a person who doesn't need mine back at two.

There is a particular pleasure in arriving after the rush. The room seems to have exhaled. Someone is replacing the flowers. You hear the end of a staff conversation that has clearly been going on for years. The specials are nearly finished, which saves you from having to become interested in all of them. You order what you wanted anyway.

My friend messages to ask if it is busy. I send a photograph of the empty chair opposite. They arrive with a bag full of things they have already done and a very detailed explanation of the remaining things. For a while I listen. Then the drinks arrive, and the list spends twenty minutes beneath an elbow. The window has a decent view. There is no line forming at the door.

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