He had come here every morning for a week, read the paper and eaten his breakfast. Some days he had looked tired, true enough, but the waiter had never seen him in such a state as today. Furthermore, it had been almost half past two when he arrived. “Hard night, sir?” The customer sat with his suitcase beside him at the table staring into the middle distance, red-eyed and unshaven. “Yeah. Yup, it was a hard night. I did … a lot.” “Good on ya. That’s what King’s Cross is for. Anything else, sir?” “No thanks. I’ve got a plane to catch …” The waiter listened with regret. He had begun to like the calm Norwegian who seemed a little lonely, but was friendly and gave handsome tips. “Yes, I can see the suitcase. If that means it’s the last time you’ll be in for a while, this one’s on me. Are you sure I can’t offer you a bourbon, a Jack Daniel’s?
