The Importance of Being Ernst: Of Tents, Teepees & Straight Lines

I was getting into the meat of my vegetarian samosa, the heart of the matter of the oh-so-flaky doughy, mashed potato chunks, when I heard the door open.

A third instinct told me that it was him. I could see him pause through the double-doors. Puzzled by the choice of place, debating possibly a hasty turn-back and retreat.

He had picked the shift and I the place.

Hesitation. A Pause. A quick glance around, a brief survey of the species that milled.

I chewed ingesting his side profile. He caught me mid-chew, spying on him. I looked away but not quickly enough. He caught me. A tight smile, a fleeting sense of relief.

He had spotted the reason why he was here. DRAT.

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