he listens to schumann and likes to eat with chopstickcs

In the restaurant with the red door and the black and white checkerboard floors, the one with the patio covered in white twinkle lights and umbrellas in summer to shade the sun, there were scallops and chopsticks and creamy mashed potatoes scooped up slowly with a fork, one bite at a time. There was sourdough bread with chilled butter wrapped in foil, and a boy in a black t-shirt and grey chinos. We sat at the oyster bar and talked finance and red Ferraris. He ordered Sabayon with berries in a goblet for dessert. We took turns, eating with the same spoon.