“What’re you doing?”

“Playing a game. Go away.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“That long, huh?”

“What do you want?”

“Did you see that person, at lunch?”

“What person?”

“You know the one I’m talking about.”

“Nope. No idea.”

“You’re being stubborn. This is bad.”

“Look, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. I’m just playing this damn game to chill out. Leave me alone.”

“They were sitting three seats over, in a corner, crying by themselves. You noticed, but you were there with friends. This person wasn’t.”

“Don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do. There’s a story there. Work on it.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re not busy. You’re playing a game. One that you’ve already beaten before.”

“Well, I’ll do it again.”

“Fine, but listen to this.”

“Please, go away.”

“The person was going to meet someone at the restaurant. Maybe a lover, or a long lost relative?”

“Why do you keep saying ‘person?’ is it a girl or a boy?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re the one that saw ‘them.’”

“I saw—well, WE saw a person crying at a restaurant. The gender, for the purposes of the story, can be changed.”

“Which one was it in real life?”

“You know the answer.”

“…a boy. But an adult boy.”

“Right. Now why did you notice this?”

“Statistically, they’re crying less in public.”

“Cite your sources.”

“My own eyeballs.”

“So when you say ‘statistics,’ you mean your own survey.”

“And by survey, I mean it in the tradition of people looking out over landscapes and chronicling what they see, not a census-style survey.”

“So then chronicle.”

“…I see what you did there. Very clever, but I’m not writing tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like it.”

“But you’re wasting time.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“No! What does this accomplish? Get off your ass and get to work.”

“A crying person by themselves isn’t a story.”

“That’s why you make one up, dummy.”

“I’m not doing it tonight.”

“Fine, you waste. Play the damn game. See if I come around with these little tidbits again. Watch how you’re nothing when you reach middle age. Nothing said, nothing done, just playing your damn game. You’re already too old. You’ve already wasted enough time on these stupid games, and here you are again. Perfect. I’m wasted on you.”

“Fine! There, I put down the controller, asshole. What do you want?”

“Fantastic! I knew you’d come around. Well, first we have to figure out who this person was waiting for, and who they where sitting down to see…”