Short Fiction · A Fog in Santone (2/2)

The waiter returns for the tray and glasses. As he enters, the girl crushes a little empty pasteboard box in her hand and throws it in a corner. She is stirring something in her glass with her hatpin.

“Why, Miss Rosa,” says the waiter with the civil familiarity he uses⁠—“putting salt in your beer this early in the night!”