Five people
I sit in a two-seat window table in a small fish and chips shop on Dunsmuir Street. I'm reading The Blind Assassin while I wait for my food.
Just outside the window, inches away from me through the glass, two men sit at a small steel sidewalk table, talking to each other without looking at each other.
One man, who appears to be homeless, meticulously removes the sealed paper lids from two prepackaged bowls of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes cereal. Then, over each opened bowl of cereal, he slices a whole banana with a pocket knife. Once the bowls are filled to the top with banana slices, he fills the bowls with strawberry flavoured milk.
A steaming plate of fish and chips arrives at my table. The woman who has brought me the food squints and says something in Chinese to her husband behind the counter. He answers her.
Across the table from the first man sits the other, who has placed a beat-up looking cellphone on the table, and opens a small fanny pack and removes a plastic clamshell case. He then pulls out a brown paper package and sets it down on the table. He opens the plastic case, which has a mirror embedded into the lid and a tiny digital scale in the body.
The first man stirs the bananas into the cereal in one of the bowls with the finger of his right hand.
I begin eating my fish and chips.
The second man outside pours white powder out of the brown paper package onto the scale, then using a razor blade he slides a measured amount of the powder into a tiny plastic zip-lock bag.
The first man begins to shovel the pink cereal and banana mixture into his mouth with a plastic spoon.
I finish my first piece of fish, and start on a second, glancing occasionally at the book in my left hand.
The second man looks at the time on his mobile phone, and then extracts a length of rubber surgical tubing from his fanny pack.
I check the time on my mobile phone. It's 6:15pm.
The wife looks at the clock.
The first man places the paper bowls and banana peels onto a dirty plate already sitting on the table.
The husband finishes the fries he's been making, puts the steel basket aside to cool, wipes his hands on his white apron, and walks through the shop door onto the sidewalk.
The second man looks around nervously. He unzips his fanny pack again and drops first the tubing and then the other equipment back inside.
The first man crumples a used napkin over his cereal bowls, and pushes the plate and its contents toward the edge of the table.
The husband nods.
I take a drink of my water.
The second man puts on a bicycle helmet.
The first man picks up a garbage bag full of aluminum cans and quickly jaywalks across the street.
The husband stares.
The second man produces a bicycle seemingly out of nowhere, and walks the bicycle across the street into the alleyway, where he's joined by the first man carrying the bag.
The husband looks back at the table, picks up the plate piled high with paper and banana peels, and takes it inside.
"Your dinner was okay?" asks the wife.
"Yes," I say.
Just outside the window, inches away from me through the glass, two men sit at a small steel sidewalk table, talking to each other without looking at each other.
One man, who appears to be homeless, meticulously removes the sealed paper lids from two prepackaged bowls of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes cereal. Then, over each opened bowl of cereal, he slices a whole banana with a pocket knife. Once the bowls are filled to the top with banana slices, he fills the bowls with strawberry flavoured milk.
A steaming plate of fish and chips arrives at my table. The woman who has brought me the food squints and says something in Chinese to her husband behind the counter. He answers her.
Across the table from the first man sits the other, who has placed a beat-up looking cellphone on the table, and opens a small fanny pack and removes a plastic clamshell case. He then pulls out a brown paper package and sets it down on the table. He opens the plastic case, which has a mirror embedded into the lid and a tiny digital scale in the body.
The first man stirs the bananas into the cereal in one of the bowls with the finger of his right hand.
I begin eating my fish and chips.
The second man outside pours white powder out of the brown paper package onto the scale, then using a razor blade he slides a measured amount of the powder into a tiny plastic zip-lock bag.
The first man begins to shovel the pink cereal and banana mixture into his mouth with a plastic spoon.
I finish my first piece of fish, and start on a second, glancing occasionally at the book in my left hand.
The second man looks at the time on his mobile phone, and then extracts a length of rubber surgical tubing from his fanny pack.
I check the time on my mobile phone. It's 6:15pm.
The wife looks at the clock.
The first man places the paper bowls and banana peels onto a dirty plate already sitting on the table.
The husband finishes the fries he's been making, puts the steel basket aside to cool, wipes his hands on his white apron, and walks through the shop door onto the sidewalk.
The second man looks around nervously. He unzips his fanny pack again and drops first the tubing and then the other equipment back inside.
The first man crumples a used napkin over his cereal bowls, and pushes the plate and its contents toward the edge of the table.
The husband nods.
I take a drink of my water.
The second man puts on a bicycle helmet.
The first man picks up a garbage bag full of aluminum cans and quickly jaywalks across the street.
The husband stares.
The second man produces a bicycle seemingly out of nowhere, and walks the bicycle across the street into the alleyway, where he's joined by the first man carrying the bag.
The husband looks back at the table, picks up the plate piled high with paper and banana peels, and takes it inside.
"Your dinner was okay?" asks the wife.
"Yes," I say.