The edges of the table were scruffed and chairs rocked as we were onboard a stormy ship. The light flickered above us and the only thing that broke the silence was the shuffling of Sri to our table.
He sat our plates down and looked up at the light and flicked it with his finger and shook his head in apology like an impoverished housewife keeping up appearances. Sri, that light was broken before we entered and it will be broken after we leave and this ghost ship of a restaurant is closed for good. Flicking that bulb just kills us.
I told you, said Umar. I told you.
He tears into his meal without looking up.
He was right. The place we rushed to every Friday clutching our money, hungry with anticipation stirred nothing but sadness in us now. I swear it’s worse to see something go when you know how good it was before and fucking hell, those Fridays were the best . I would have closed the restaurant right then myself I could, it seemed like that anyway to the hundreds of people passing by on Thayer Street.
We say bye to Sri and tip ten bucks. We didn’t say when we would be back again.