Eating lunch at a local restaurant, I couldn’t help but imagine the story behind the man sitting behind my husband.
This man was alone. He was neatly dressed with not a hair out of place. His wardrobe was casual blue collar – a sports shirt advertising motorcycles tucked into neatly pressed blue jeans. His hands were clean, but probably not professionally manicured.
He was tearing up a garden salad while intently listening to his phone. The restaurant was a bit noisy so seeing the phone held with the speaker right in his ear was not surprising, but he never talked, just listened. A podcast, perhaps? Audio entertainment for dining alone? No, maybe voicemails. Someone working outdoors couldn’t hear his phone and might use lunchtime to catch up on missed contacts.
Had he been wearing galluses over a white shirt and pleated trousers, I would have thought he was waiting for a jury’s verdict. Or getting dirt on a witness from his private eye in the field.
I was impressed with his power lunch. Then the waitress brought the rest of it. One-half of a roasted chicken, three vegetables and bread. With his trim physique, he doesn’t eat like that every meal unless he is doing some physical labor somewhere. But not a sign of sweat anywhere.
Hmmm… “the man in the gabardine suit is a spy. His bowtie is really a camera.”
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