Clams, a dog and a leaky memory.

Her memory was even shorter than her skirt.

The waitress.

The traveller had reserved a table less than thirty minutes ago, and he had asked if he could sit down even though they hadn’t started serving yet, and she had refused.

 “Do you have a reservation?” She asked when he came back.

Everybody else had come tonight as either a couple or a foursome, whereas he wanted a table for one; he was English and they were all French and he was wearing a hat that looked like an elephant had sat on it.

Once the camel had finished chewing it.

You would think she would have remembered something.

Anyhow… she remembered his eventual order, so that was good.

He chose the razor clams. he had never had razor clams and they were a starter; he wanted dessert and the main dishes were less interesting.

The clams were cooked in a whisky and parsley sauce, and the traveller had a glass of white wine.

Chateau Brice.

Two people at the next table had brought their Dachshund with them, his name was Reiss.

The waitress offered them a bowl of water for Reiss.

Reiss was happy about that.

He was happy about the dessert, a Pistachio Pana Cota.

So happy, that after also having an espresso he left a small tip.

It was all he had.

Then he thought about going for a night swim, but instead he went to sleep under the pine trees.

It was still early but the grape harvesters would start early in the morning and wake him.