Every afternoot at 2:00 he would walk into his stale dining room. A room that grew stranger every day, it was as if the shadows that hung about moved. Dust was always in the air, it caused the light that beamed through the high corner window to have a rustic glow.
There wasn't much furniture to be found, just one table in the middle of the slightly over sized room, and it was chipped. The table was complimented by four small broken chairs.
There was always old yellow newspapers stacked on one of the chairs. This is where he would come, here, to read the headlines, or to talk, but there was never anyone to talk to, not that that stopped him.
So everyday, he would come here, with his sack lunch and eat quietly. Check his watch several times, until it said 3:00, and only then would he leave.