I'm slowly sipping my iced tea. I put down my glass and look around the dimly-lit restaurant and that's when I see him. His spiky hair, creased black shirt and denim jeans faded around the knees. He sits alone at a table for seven. He's attractive enough to have a lot of girls looking at him but apparently, he doesn't care. Either that or he's trying to attract even more attention with his odd behaviour. He pops a pill into his mouth and immediately clutches his head. His elbows give way and he puts his head on the table. "Boy, he sure is troubled", I think. "Could that..No...Maybe..Not in a restaurant!" I debate with myself. I make an excuse to go wash my hands, leave the table and walk past him slowly, trying to look as subtle as I could, looking at the pills out of the corner of my eye, but it is far too dark to read the name.

I make a pretence of washing up and head back. His hands hold his head and he swings from side to side. He makes me sick with worry and I know not why.
I sit down and try to eat without paying him too much attention. He sits up, scarily sudden. He screws his eyes up until they're nearly non-existent.And then, breaking all laws of decorum at the dinner table, or in a public place for that matter, he lets out a massive burp, loud enough to shatter the windows and the crockery and repulsive enough to want to make me scream in disgust. But, unlike him, I have tact. I make a belching noise in response. And now, he is revolted. Revenge, mon ami, is indeed sweet.