Peering through the café window, he sees Elaine Kelly’s blonde head nod and shake as she chats to her ‘bestie’, Jackie; the friend who is forever posting cat pictures, mood memes and filtered selfies with ridiculous pouting lips. Jackie’s mediocre existence is gilded through the lens of social media. She is a small candle burning in a cavern. Not like Elaine. Elaine is special. Elaine is the flame that lights the cavern. But Jackie has her uses. Jackie’s social media is his window into Elaine’s whereabouts. Her postings have brought him here today. If he is lucky he can sit close to her, listening, watching, smelling. A smile crosses his face as he appraises his muse. She’ll be an exquisite addition to his next exhibition.

Pushing open the red door, he is greeted by a rush of different aromas: fresh brewing coffee, fruit teas, fried chorizo and toast. Jazz music plays through tinny speakers, thankfully lost in the drone of the clientele. A fat batch of latte-supping millennials and thirty-somethings with their heads buried in the latest iPhones and silver MacBooks inhabit the seating areas. Some are in groups and others are alone, but all are online and connected, their personal details open and ready for the taking, should one or more capture his interest. He closes the door quietly behind him.

The floors are stripped pine, scuffed by the leather and rubber soles of coffee-bores seeking a caffeine fix with their breakfast of grilled halloumi and squashed avocado on toasted sourdough. Cold industrial aluminium pipes draped in red, pink and white bunting hang from the ceiling. The walls are exposed brickwork with Warholian graffiti art canvas paintings. One depicts the Queen wearing a baseball cap and another shows several images of an athletic six-packed teenage boy suggestively squeezing the crotch of his tight white shorts.

Edgy, he thinks, and almost laughs.

‘Hello. What can I get you today?’ says a chirpy voice.

He follows it and sees a young Asian woman smiling up at him from behind a small mountain of doughnuts, cakes and croissants. His eyes flare and he watches her for longer than he should. Her face is small, her eyes bright. His gaze slides to her neck which is tender and smooth. He moistens his lips but senses a change in her demeanour. He sees a trace of fear in her eyes. She is smart and can see through his shell. He glances at her name badge.

‘Excuse me, Chau,’ he says, with as warm a smile as he can muster, ‘I was miles away.’

Her return smile is trepidatious. She is wise to be cautious.

‘I’ll have an Americano. Please.’

‘Name, please.’ She doesn’t meet his gaze.

He gives her his name.

‘Would you like something to eat?’

‘No thank you.’

‘I’ll bring it to you.’

‘Thanks,’ he says as he passes over a crisp five-pound note. ‘Keep the change.’