{Note: The final name of the restaurant may change the decorative style of the interior, thus I shall omit specific description thereof.}
Luke holds the door open for the girls before stepping in himself. Cecile looks around the place for the first time, surprised to find that she is not immediately hit with an overwhelming scent of fresh bread and/or coffee, as such shops are wont to do in her experience. High tables and chairs stretch across one of the walls with power outlets for laptops, while a sizable section of floor space in the corner is populated by couches and coffee tables, as some ambient jazz tune of decades past wafts through the ceiling speakers. Her initial thought of the ambiance is, “For a place that’s not a coffee shop it’s really trying to act like one.”
The establishment is noticeably thin on patrons as Luke and Marcie step to the counter, currently manned by a sleepy-faced student the same age as them who feels like he’s just trying to tough it out until closing time. “Hey, Cecile, what do you want?” her girlfriend of one hour asks. “Our treat.”
“Hwum? Oh, whatever, really, I’m just, looking around. A wrap’d be nice. Something with roast beef.” She drifts further and further away from them as her eyes flick from object to object in the restaurant. It’s nigh inevitable that they’re quickly drawn to the other windowless wall, where a centerpiece of magnificent proportions hangs: A 36-square foot crossword puzzle. The monochromatic monolith is secured behind a thin locked case with instructions posted on the side; the staff will apparently unlock it for you if you show them your receipt. A brief canvassing tells Cecile that the Marine Sub will be selling a lot more sandwiches before it’s complete. She smiles wryly as she notices the many bleached blots of liquid paper where challengers so haughtily and hastily used pen, but her rebuke quickly turns into admiration for whatever staff member is in charge of checking for mistakes.
Living in a Lowenly World 