At reception, which is also the bar, phones ring incessantly, but no-one answers. Barpeople scatter around, spilling and splashing drinks while plopping in the ice-cubes. The receptionist runs around trying to organize the tables as if her life depended on it, sprinting here, moving something there; it looks as if she is at every spot in the restaurant at once. The compliment book, protected by dust, hiding in the corner on a solitary stand contrasts with the glass complime

Chairs finally shrill tight, for the last time. Sweeties are being sucked, babies are crying and adults are dreading the next days work.

A large oak effect table sits uninhabited in the corner, eager for someone to dwell on it. Odd splotches of ketchup and knife scratches stain the table as if a battle wound. A lit candle in the middle of the table gradually burns the wick and melts the wax, giving off a succulent fresh-lemon scent. The old table creaks when the menus are put on the table with a thud. Worn and torn string wound in and out of the menu shows the manner in which it has been previously handled, crudely and without respect. Tissues folded in the starched fan shape never fail to amuse people, as to how they are folded in such perfection.

The table waiter starts to show signs of busyness, me

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Approximate Word count = 545
Approximate Pages = 2 (250 words per page double spaced)