The place was empty. She found a seat near a small table and a facing chair. When the waitress came over, she ordered herself a fuzzy navel. She also asked for a scotch.
She had learned a long time ago to always order two drinks so it appeared as if she was with someone, or awaiting a friend's arrival. It didn't always work to keep the idiots rolling in for happy hour at bay. But it did enough.
Today, especially, she wanted to sit and leisurely sip a drink. No screen. No talk. No men.
But then, she looked up.
