4:45pm
The sun is just breaking through a sky that’s been overcast all day, dressed in white like the hostess at The Mad Greek. She’s got long, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders halfway down her back. Her skin is pale, blush on her cheeks. She seems angelic somehow, like a female Cupid who matches people with tables rather than with lovers as a bouzouki soundtrack plays on the stereo. “Table for one,” I say.