The restaurant was still half empty. It was 6:30 in the afternoon of a lazy Saturday – the bank holiday pushed many to have a little retreat in less-polluted nearby destinations –, the waitress looked quite apathetic too. In the choice between a table next to the big window on the street, another in which the light coming from the enamelled glass delightfully drained on the comfy chair pillows, and one that was in the darkness, not easy to access to because of another table badly positioned, and just under a ugly poster, Joe went for the latter, obliging the dull attendant to wipe off the stains of coffee and remove the chipped cups.

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