It’s that moment where you suddenly realize too much. You’re sitting there at the table, pushing around your empty water glass, the half-consumed martini and you’ve barely touched your lunch. You’re listening to the person across from you and you can see that their lips are moving, you know that they’re speaking to you, but you can’t hear them. You’re focused on something else.
Maybe it’s the way his glasses are slightly crooked, the sound of his tapping fingers against the table whenever a lull happens in the conversation or the random piece of thread on the collar of his shirt that needs to be cut. This is all you can notice; this is all that makes sense.