This evening, a very old man made his way to the counter at the café and ordered two coffees and a slice of carrot cake. He walked over alone – I couldn’t see his companion back at a table, the place was too crowded. We could barely hear each other speak over the sounds of some guy singing karaoke covers of Frank Sinatra songs in a crowded room, but we understood each other. I handed handed him a slice of cake on a plate with a fork and two coffees. He looked like he wanted to ask for something, but he also looked like he had decided not to speak up about it.

So I got him the second fork. He seemed greatful.

Later on I found them in the dishroom.