bread bowl

"is this still open?" keisha asked me.

it was three minutes before close. the man ordered a bread bowl, paid, and stood near the napkins with both hands around it. he did not eat it. the soup made the lid sweat. keisha wiped the counter and watched him hold the bowl like it had given him a job.

i counted thirty-seven napkins in the dispenser before i stopped. he kept looking at the door, then at the bread bowl, then at the door again. i asked if something was wrong. he said, "no, i'm just waiting for it to cool." the soup was cold enough to make the bread hard.

when we locked the doors, he was still there. i told him we had to leave. he put the bowl on the counter and walked out without saying anything. i threw it away, then found one red mark on the lid where his thumb had been.

tomorrow, can somebody please take the napkins out of the dispenser before i count them again?