"He sat at the edge of the bar, skimming through the menu in search of—I presumed—the least expensive dish."
The barkeeper's monologue continued over the increasingly passionate music of the gramophone.
"I had never seen him before, and that was rare around these parts."
The wide shot from behind showed the entire bar with The Photographer sitting at the edge of the frame to the right, his auburn hair setting him apart from everyone else.
"Most of my patrons were bourgeoisie, but this one was different."
Unlike others, who chatted and enjoyed themselves, he sat quietly.
"His eyes were baggy, and he looked slightly under the weather."
The Photographer raised his hand.
"His voice sounded rough, as if he hadn't used it much, as he ordered the food. It was the cheapest item on the menu and quickest to make."
One of the men at the bar, dressed in a beige suit, banged his pint.
"One more, barkeep!"
The well-kempt bartender turned away from The Photographer and gave a nod.
