0009 Railway Restaurant

The staff behind the bar freely exchanging comments in their language you don't understand stare blatantly at you as if you are a travelling zoo - that's their perks; that and the odd pick-up; why else should they work here? The waiters take the orders, lay the plates with silent scorn, concealed disdain - and, perhaps, a hint of compassion? no, I think not.. how, they seem to wonder, could any foreigner be so ignorant as to eat here? The drained ghosts of vegetables, and would m'sieu like his meat insulted lightly, heavily, or mediumly? They long ago exhausted their pity. Their compassion is reserved for their fellow nationals - they know that some strong reason obliges them to eat here - perhaps a funeral in the provinces. There's the shadow of an implied shrug as they lay the plates with ancient formality, take the redeeming order for alcohol in which all sins are dissolved, forgiven they're secret students of humanity; they may discuss you and your strange behaviour when they get home to a leisurely meal, (a fine cut of meat beneath their jacket) : dream of opening a small restaurant somewhere in the provinces; they'd miss you, though; for anatomists, friends are no substitute for strangers.