Henry pressed his face up against the restaurant’s window. He put his hands up next to his eyes to get a better view of what was inside. He marveled at the bright, white tablecloths and the artistically folded napkins.
Each table was neatly lined up, a beautifully framed piece of artwork gracing each setting. He felt and heard the growling of his stomach. How long had it been since he’d eaten at such a place, Henry wondered. Hell, how long had it been since he’d had a decent meal?
Henry remembered the heady days when he was making money hand over fist as a commodities trader. He could afford to go to fancy restaurants like this. He’d bring prospective clients to such places to impress them. This memory brought a melancholy smile to Henry’s face.
If only he hadn’t put his money in that Ponzi scheme. He lost everything. All his money, all his clients, his family, his reputation. He avoided jail time by agreeing to flip on the crook who masterminded the fraud.
The restaurant door opened. The owner invited Henry to come in and have a meal before the restaurant opened for business.
Henry actually started to cry.
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practictioner from Roger Shipp. Photo credit: MorgueFile May 2018 1400068700w0086.