Pascal had a problem to solve and he pondered over his options at breakfast by the window of the cafe that was a minute’s walk from his apartment. He looked out the window, not wanting to hurry, hoping to find some inspiration outside. But it being a grey September working day, the few figures using the sidewalk rushed past and only served to snap off his thoughts. When he allowed his thoughts to return to breakfast – black tea, plain omelette and toast with St. Dalfour’s jam – it seemed to him that he was not making any progress and was nowhere nearer to a solution. Then the waitress’ voice came out of a fog and reached him.
“Is the food okay, sir?”
Pascal raised his eyebrows and turned his head to her, instinctively shaking his head and indicated that No, no, all good.
The pretty waitress, wearing her strawberry colored hair up in a neat bun and revealing her clean, unblemished neck, went away unconvinced.
Pascal returned to his piece of paper on which he’d written the problem and took a thoughtful bite of his toast.