The Cheswick Cafe on Saturday Afternoon

Again, he knew she had come. Neatly dressed in one of her many pink dresses, hair curled immaculately underneath her bonny hat- it was an effort she made lately daily. She would sit on the same cushioned chair and wait patiently. Her expression would shift from hopeful to eventually forlorn, the degrees of change pronounced with her every reluctant study of the time. He knew that she knew it was a cycle of desperation, and he wondered how long it would take before her patience would snap. He crouched behind the door where he knew that he would not be seen.
There was a decisive thud as her crossed foot crashed onto the ground in a bitter mix of frustration and letdown. The appointed time had arrived, again. An arrival lately routine. On her feet, she gathered her coat and bag and prepared to leave. She shuffled her way out dejectedly, head bowed without a care for the swirling crowd that was around her.
His eyes fixed on her dissipating back, he watched her leave the cafe before he would emerge. Another day was over, but anonymous, drowned by the flood that was late routine. It was cruel intended routine, and it was sapping him.