SCENE_01
The Empty Corner Booth
It's 7:40 on a Thursday and the corner booth is still bare. The retired dentist who orders the lamb neck and the same glass of Barbera hasn't called, hasn't cancelled, just isn't there. You catch yourself glancing at the door between tickets, then at the reservation screen, like the booth might explain itself if you stare long enough.
SCENE_02
Auditing the Last Ticket
In your head you're back at his last visit, running the whole ticket again: was the lamb neck rested long enough, did the runner take too long refilling his water, did he seem quieter than usual walking out. You hold the corner booth open forty minutes past his usual time, unwilling to seat anyone else there, as if that would undo whatever he decided about you.
SCENE_03
Other Thursdays, Other Reasons
A silence isn't a scorecard. You don't actually know if he moved, got sick, started a diet, or just wanted something new this week — the empty booth carries none of that information, only your guess. You pull up the reservation log tonight and check, privately, how many other regulars have lapsed for months and then walked back in like nothing happened.