First Service

Ari has run other people’s dining rooms for twenty years. This one is his. At five the low sun comes across the floor in long bars and he sets a table nobody has booked — squares the glasses, lights the candle, steps back. The room is finished. It is also empty, and he isn’t sure anyone will come up eleven floors for him.

They come. By dusk the glass has gone blue and every table holds its own small fire, and he moves through the room all evening without once standing still in it.

Late, the floor empties back to timber and shadow and the bar is the last thing lit. Someone hands him a glass. He stops watching the room and stands in it.