The Olé Au Lait was renowned as the best place in Santa Mondega to get a decent fried breakfast. Even better, the food was brought over to you by the delightful young waitress, Flake. Today she had even been kind enough to place a newspaper by the side of Sanchez’s plate. He knew, though, that she treated him well only because there were no other customers in the café at that time of day – eight o’clock – anyway. The rest of the city folk were probably all hungover; in fact, Sanchez was one of the only early risers in the place. ‘I’ll have a good tip for you later,’ said Sanchez, winking at Flake. The sweet young brunette winked back at him but said nothing, heading back behind the counter to wait for the next order. Sanchez was moderately sure, too, that as she walked away from his table she was deliberately wiggling her butt for his benefit. So he made a point of staring at it, just to be sure her efforts didn’t go to waste. When he’d finished staring, he looked down at the items on his table.
