Last man standing..

..or sitting, rather. Not me sir, I don't want to be that guy.

There's one thing i have recently come to know about myself. I hate to be the last guy in a restaurant during it's closing time. There is something unnerving about the whole ambience, with the waiters rushing you for your orders, the cleaners staring at you impatiently. Heck, even the cooks peep from the kitchens, to check out the moron who is keeping them away from their sweet homes. There is an air of negativity around as you try to tuck into a hurriedly prepared meal, which as you might expect, is a disaster borne out of a compulsion to do one's duty. It's even tougher when your partner feels that she is not 'in a mood to eat' (which a glutton like me can never fathom) and she opts for a glass of juice or a bowl of fruits. Stuff that can be arranged quickly. And consumed even faster.

So, as you bite into a rubbery, cold piece of roti dunked in a red, oily and tasteless gravy, you just wonder "What about the adage that the noblest deed is to feed a hungry man?". And then you notice the smiling face of owner or the guy at the cash counter.

Well, at least someone's happy.