He’s been to Harner’s Restaurant before, right next to the Fox River, serving good meals at cheap prices. But he’s not here for the food. He’s here to watch. Bob followed them this morning, completely unnoticed. He sits at a table where he can see the girl. She doesn’t notice him. Nobody does. The girl has long arms and long legs and a long neck. He ponders this as he eats his breakfast, as he pours the syrup on his blueberry pancakes, as he sips his coffee, as his large hand surrounds the cup. She wears slim jeans and high-heeled boots and a fitted shirt. She smiles at the boy across from her. They might be late teens, early twenties. She laughs like a little girl. The boy stares like a little boy. He watches them as he eats. His fork slices through the soft skin of the pancakes, the blueberries dripping.
