The window through which food passed in both directions let me see his face all day every day, just as he left his office for lunch. It was the only joy I was getting in my work, stuck as it was in my wheelchair and dishwashers that shabby. Her sweet look at the letter, reading the newspaper waiting for you, your chewing sensuously rhythmic, tipped his farewell smile. Today was his birthday: January 15, as he was going to forget. I left a flower on her site reserved. Maybe I looked in his eyes caress love. There I was, punctual as always. Have you seen the flower. The smells. I tried to choose a flower with natural essence. The waiter brought the letter. She thanked him. But he added that the flower was very pretty. No, no, it was me. I have not been able to approach the window and scream. Wheelchair will not let me stir it in that joint. Have been tonight. And me? The head chef has scolded me for the dishes accumulated. Worse for her, you will accumulate more. I made a decision.
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