The Lover

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Sixty years old. Dressed all in white, except for a large hot pink straw hat and ditto scarf around her neck. Rings on her fingers, eye shadow glaring from afar. She circles the café table, and chats to the young waiter before she sits down. He brings her two glasses of champagne.
She sips from one, looks at the place across the table and smiles.
Flirts with the waiter.
Turns her head this way and that.
Another look at the empty chair. Another smile.
She lifts her glass. Over the rim she surveys the terrace with a twinkle in her eye.

Fifteen minutes later she gets up. She waves amicably at the waiter and struts away, swinging her handbag.
Both glasses on the table are empty now.