I am the only patron
In the rather swish coffee lounge
I am somewhat intrigued
By the chrome yellow shadows
With neon blue outlines
Now I play shadow puppets
As I choose a replacement dessert
Due to the run on the syrup sponge
The room is an interior designers dream
Or nightmare, depending on your taste
The stamped distressed vegetable crate
Suggests the establishment opened in 1691
I am joined by an old man, with his even older
Greyhound, assuming that is of course
That each dog year is worth x times a human year
The waiter explains to the woman at the bar
That she ought to book her Christmas meal
Sooner rather than later; you know how it is
In the trade, everybody is a salesman, everyone
Wants to make their mark, in full on sodium
