Undercover cops. Shaved heads and hoodies, but they're talking about search and seizure procedures. "It's legal if..." Prunedale's finest, keeping us safe.
Leon Trotsky in exile, parsing sandwiches. White hair, white goatee, thin black wireframes, khaki workshirt, hiking boots. In the end he chooses sushi.
Silent couple, barricaded in their separate seats. Looking into space, wringing fingers. They've brought nothing to do, no books or phones or iPads, nothing to occupy themselves. They sit without talking, without eye contact, separate in their individual chairs, staring into distance.