Restaurant 1

He got to the restaurant early, and waved five people ahead of him as he looked over the menu. Stasia hadn't answered the last text he'd sent, and he didn't know how quick the service was here. He decided to go ahead and order, rather than wait for her. The girl at the counter was less than half his age, chubby, with three green stars tattooed on the inside of her left wrist. He ordered a turkey panini with sharp cheddar and bacon, and sweet tea. The girl handed him a pager and asked his name; he told her "Kyril" as smoothly as if it were his real name.

He spotted an open table in the far back corner, and took it. It put his back to one man, a scholarly looking type who was engrossed in his laptop; of course, an agent would have behaved the same way. At the other table was a black girl, with a miniskirt than exposed too much of her legs, with a nursing textbook a notebook. A grandmotherly type between him and the door, not the type the opposition usually used, but you never knew. Couldn't be helped, and the other open tables were more exposed.

The pager buzzed in his hand, and he retrieved his plate from the counter and sat down facing the entrance. There were screens dividing the restaurant into sections, but there were enough openings in the screens that he could watch the door.

And there she was. In his eyes, her presence lit the room immediately, unmistakably. She wore grey slacks, a grey vest that demurely emphasized her narrow waist and small breasts, and white blouse. Her hair was a long straight splash of pale gold now, although in his mental image it had been curls. Her eyes looked tired, until she saw him and she smiled.