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I carefully sat down, tucked my legs underneath the chair, and then scooched forward. While we waited for our food, I returned to the paper and read aloud the article about my death. I was twenty-one, according to the license, when it was feloniously issued to me. It was typically barren of anything of interest. There were three plastic chairs and a table stained with tea. On the wall facing the door were two notices about foot-and-mouth regulations and a map of West Sussex. From what I can see, Worthing or Brighton would have been nearer. They had their cans of lager with them. The topless women were some way over to our left, about thirty yards off. We had to move anyway, because of the tide. He was a deeply worried man, almost certainly into something criminal for the first time in his life. Much of it could be ignored now. And being out of the office has other advantages.
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