I walk in with my tie loosened, looking like a real working man, and almost fooling myself into feeling like one, too. Noticing I’m alone, the hostess asks if I’d like to be seated at the bar. I decline. I brought my book, and I don’t want a screen shoved in my face while I enjoy it.
She takes me to a small table in the corner with two seats. I look around – it’s moderately busy for a Tuesday evening. I loosen my tie until it comes off and undo the second button, sitting with my back to the wall.
The jacket is off and the book is open when the water comes. This is my life now, whether I like it or not. With a family depending on me at home – even from hours away – every waking moment has to be dedicated to the pursuit of improvement: physically, mentally, or spiritually.
“Do you want anything else to drink?” asks a voice as clear as the water before me. I give the waitress a brief once-over. She’s cute. Tan skin that somehow reminds me of honey, with dark hair in a ponytail that cascades around her shoulder and close to her left elbow. Her eyes are almond shaped and looking down at me in a dark hazel glow.