No Second Date
Angela sat down alone at a table in a trendy downtown restaurant. It was 7:31, meaning her date was already late. It was not the optimal start to the night, but at least the place seemed nice.
The restaurant itself was of the “old industrial building converted into…” school of design. It took up the top story of a late nineteenth-century factory, and still had “J.H. BARNES TEXTILES” painted in large block letters on the rough brick wall. Angela could imagine the room full of belt-powered sewing machines in its heyday.
“Angela! Hey, Angela,” Charles said, interrupting her historical daydream. “I got stuck on the subway. How are you?”
Friggin’ hungry, thought Angela.
“I’m great; I’m glad you made it. This building is pretty cool, right?” she asked.
Charles sat and began trying to wave down a waiter. “Oh, you know. Glad it’s over. My boss wanted me to stay late.”
Great, he’s incapable of listening or holding a conversation. Mere minutes into their first date, things did not seem very promising.