I glance around and feel the warmth of good food and neon signs, the buzz drowned out by the chatter of evening diner conversations.
She sits across from me in the leather booth for two, copying my silence.
I finger my smartphone on and off and on again. Finally I point at the overflowed ceramic cup posing as a sugar caddy and say, “That’s a lot of sugar.”
“They did a terrible job,” she agrees. She empties the cup and rearranges the sugar packets in a more respectable fashion as we wait for Reuben sandwiches and life to move on.