He was neither vegan nor vegetarian. Nor was he pescatarian, which is close to what I was. He often enjoyed charcuterie (of which I wasn't a particular fan), and he would even eat rare types of meat such as pig's ears or seagull's brain. However, when it came to soup, he strictly ordered it without any meat except for eggs.
On this particular day as we were sitting face to face wondering what to order at a restaurant situated in a huge indoor plaza, he picked his favorite dish.
"It's poor man's soup, but I love it" is the first thing he said as he took his first spoonful. I imagined a family gathered around a huge pot of this soup, waiting for his turn as the elderly served everyone a bowl. Then I looked at him who was enjoying every drop of it. Poor man's soup. When it came to poor man's food, I thought of corned beef with cabbage, or Korean ramyeon. To him, it was this soup which looked quite sumptuous than what I had imagined.
There was a clock on the wall, and on the other side of the wall directly behind his back was a door to the restroom. The restroom looked like it would lead somewhere, to a secret passage or another part of the building. Behind me was a young couple whispering to each other and making a light physical contact.
When he finished his soup and watched me eat mine which was rice with assorted vegetables, he got up to use the restroom and disappeared into that little door. As he went in, I thought to myself, "What if he goes in and never comes back?" Suspicion gave birth to nervousness, and nervousness gave birth to delusion. He took longer than I thought he would, and I began to wonder if my sense of time had changed.
Will he come out of that door? No one has seem to notice the disappearance of this man, and no one gave a rat's ass about it. At any moment, I shall get up to knock on the door and say, "Darling, are you all right?"
draft written a long time ago
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