It says ANDREW on the screen. It is quite an angry ring. I don't know how he did that.

'So it's not so hard to meet new people here,' says Tiffany.

'You can find new people if you try hard enough ...' says Jason.

That pretty fly lands on my taco.

The phone keeps on ringing.

DEAF

It is a little after midnight and I am standing in the chip shop on the high street trying to decide if I want chips in pitta, or a sausage in batter.

It's getting colder these days, so I think I want the sausage in batter, because the batter looks like a lovely sleeping bag for a sausage.

Outside, a group of youths lean against the window, eating their chips. In front of me, a loud man is asking for another wooden fork, as he 'lost' the last one. The man behind the counter grumpily walks to the stockroom. The first man turns and sees me.

'Oh, sorry, mate ... have you not ordered yet?'

'No,' I say, 'but you were here first.'

'No,' he says, both hands up. 'I insist. Please order.'

He is doing his best to enunciate, perhaps because he is a little drunk, but every second word comes out far longer than it should, with huge extended gaps between them. Yes. He is definitely a little drunk.

'Um ... well, I'm not sure what to have ...'I say.

'What drink do you want?' he says.

It's a little odd that he's asking me this, since he doesn't work here, but I suppose he's just taking an interest, and that's nice, in a way. The server returns from the stockroom with more wooden forks, and the first man takes one, but doesn't leave. I make eye contact with the server.

'I'd like a Fanta, please,' I say, but before the server can blink, the drunk man has turned to him and, with a finger in the air, said, 'He'd like one Fanta, please.'

He turns back to me and waits, expectantly. There is an awkward pause while I decide.

'Um ... I'd like some chips ...'

The server nods, but the drunk man - on some kind of mission all of a sudden - isn't taking any chances.

'One serving?' he asks me.

'Er ... yes.'

'He'd like one serving of chips.'

'Any sauce?' says the server, barely looking up.

'Do you want sauce?' asks the drunk man.

'I ... yes, please,' I tell him.

'Yes, please, ketchup, please,' says the drunk man.