Inside a Lebanese restaurant staffed exclusively by Hungarians. Two visitors ― a couple ― are chatting with the waitress; they know her. The man’s girlfriend leaves the restaurant by herself.
“She just hates to see you tired”
“But let me ask you one question, who will pay for her travel? Her restaurant meals? I want a nice life. If I wanted an easy life I’d move back to Hungary”
“Just spend one day a week with her”
“What will happen if I don’t? Is she going to leave me? Is she going to give me an ultimatum?”
“I don’t know”
He leaves the restaurant
A group of six friends have gathered for a pub quiz, they’re laughing and chattering ― “You two met at New Year’s, right?”. A woman joins the table but her chair is wobbly. She’s tiptoed, hunched over, and rushing to the next table for a swap; the caricature of a thief. From the table, a middle-aged man starts to narrate: “A pensioner is going to sit in that chair later”, someone else chimed in “and the legs will snap!”, they’re all transfixed and laughing so he continues “they’ll break their hip! There’s going to be an investigation by the health authority and this whole place will shut down!”. As the woman takes her seat and adjusts to a comfortable position the conversation resumes and breaks apart into two, or maybe three, overlapping discussions.
I have uncovered a car theft operation in Bristol! A blonde woman walked along the pavement, typing on her phone and glancing into each car she passed. And then with a jerk of her hand, a practiced motion of half a second, photographed the license plate. She glanced to see me watching, her eyes widened, she turned away in a fright, and started walking faster, phone now in her pocket. That was a week ago. And today, on the same street no less, I witnessed her doing exactly the same! She, who was now brunette, immediately changed course to cross the road after my second noticing. It’s my suspicion that she intended to send the photographs to her colleagues, who would return to the scene hours later, and steal whichever vehicle she had identified. I doubt we’ll see each other again.
Two men at a pub. The drunker friend’s body language seems to say “you should be grateful I’m not a violent man”, enough of a threat to inspire the obedience of a vulnerable woman. He glares at the bartender, she looks away.
“It’s good. Here, take the menu” (he doesn’t look at it)
A minute later, to his friend: “Honestly, women are evil. Even if they seem good, they’re evil”
“At least you can have a good time with them”
“Yeah, if you go to a brothel. At least that way you won’t fall in love with them”
Finishing his drink: “Alright, I’m going to smoke a fag and fuck off home”
One friend, the less inebriated, leaves the pub. The other approaches a woman at the bar