[The vista through the shop window is of someone who clearly needed the three empty espresso cups lined up in front of him. Pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb to drive back a little of the pounding in his skull, Chase sits hunched over the table, staring down at the display on his pager. He lost his watch sometime last night between the third scotch and dawn, and bed's both a distant memory and a distant hope. He can't remember why he thought this was a good idea anymore. But he's not late to meet her.]
☞ action