He was tall and wiry.
His black suit flapped around him like a fastidious crow.
He had a greying moustache and eyes that promised to make you laugh.
He was a waiter.
Working in the same restaurant for twenty years.
She was tiny.
Smaller than a doll.
And had a patch of hair missing from her forehead.
She scrapped back her thin hair to a tight bun.
And seemed not to have any sex about her.
She'd been there for five years.
Her buxom colleague, also a waitress, was buoyed by abundant blonde curls.
And blue eyeshadow right upto her brows.
At the end of the night he would rest his corns.
And little and large would rush around sweeping, mopping, tidying away the night.