A brief observation of a lunch-meeting between four people at a restaurant not very far, on a very hot and humid day in hell's kitchen. (and glimpses of other people not in the restaurant at that time.)

The man arrived late. He brought a large Coach bag with him. He looked shy and somehow old compared to her, he was a balding 50 year old. She was maybe 25. He brought little presents for the kids. They struggled a bit with their little Coach branded packages but had soon layers and layers of tissue paper torn to little pieces. The girl's present was a watermelon keychain. The boy received a flat chrome whistle. He was allowed to blow it once. Softly. Not sure if anybody in the restaurant even noticed. It was more of a whistle for someone taking evening walks in a park. The girl’s keychain appeared to be more of an accessory for someone's imaginary beach house... The mother soon had a rather large brown bag in front of her on the table. Inside was a good sized saddle bag, pink, suede, a branded tag attached. It looked very much like the tan saddle bag she already had on her lap. It was the winner. She checked the tissue paper inside of the bag, just to find a receipt. The item was returnable? There were many “wows” and “ahs” and encouragements to say thanks and general happiness. The boy had to go to the bathroom and the man walked to the bathroom with the boy. . they returned after just a few minutes and the man whispered something to the mother. She nodded. Fitting dishes arrived for all. The man spent the rest of the meal either silent, or shy, or on the phone... outside of the restaurant. And I do not know more... as I have to leave them behind now, to go back to the office... So how might the story continue? Or is there a piece of story at all?... Or where was the beginning of the story? How did these unequal partners meet? Where? Was this one of their beautiful moments? Or were these ahead or behind them?... I think ahead... but it is all a very wild speculation... Next to the restaurant is a launderette. An older woman is sitting in front of one of he washing machines, her head sunk deep between her shoulders, both of her middle fingest pressed firmly against the glass on the machine door. She looks as if she were playing slots at a casino. My feeling is she will win. Outside of the OTB are lines of old men, some in wheelchairs, one with his visiting nurse, I guess. They seem to be waiting for some sort of results. One of the men is clenching to a little book filled with tables of numbers.