Detective? Cowboy?

A plain white bowl with ‘Berries’ inscribed on it sat on the table. A melting delight laid within; pink and white fading into one another. Strawberries, caramel, and sprinkles floating on the top. The things on the table were neatly aligned. It was almost picturesque.

A white napkin with stains of pink was crumbled on the chair, which was pulled away from the table. The glass on table was filed with water, which was neither cold nor warm. The water dispenser only wielded hot and cold water.

The waitress who served the table looked for the man with the hat. The man was no where to be found but the hat was. A tan leather hat, with fringes on the side and a white feather. Next to the hat was the bowl of melting ice-cream, which was tempting even when semi melted. The grey tablecloth turned dark where tiny droplets had landed, but the glass of water was untouched.

Two waitresses giggled at the counter looking at the empty table. It was three in the afternoon the dessert bar was usually empty at this hour of the day. It was a momentary lapse for the staff before the customers poured in in the evening. Even in summer, only a select few came in early in the day, most of whom would take a cooler or a chilled latte and sit there for hours, working on their laptops.

It was December, summer was long gone. The famous soup restaurant on the opposite street was crowded in this period. Only adamant kids with sweet tooth and their mothers came to grab ice-cream of lately. The afternoon time, especially was a break for the staff. The two waitresses had their eyes glued to their phone screens, scrolling through their feed and clicking pictures.

The blonde waitress giggled, “A leather hat with a feather, so heroic!”

“I wonder, was he a cowboy or a detective?” replied the fat one.

“I’d wager he was a detective. Did you not see? He gazed outside the window, lost in deep thoughts.”

“You notice guys all day at work.”

Ignoring the comment, she chewed her finger. “He asked for a butter knife when I gave him a spoon,” said the blonde in a baffled tone. “And the tablecloth, it was wet.”

Irritated this time, the fat one said, “No sane men come here. And the others spill water all the time.”

“It was not water, it was not.”