He’d make Cooper a tasty dinner tonight. That’s what he’d do. There was some cutlery back in the apartment, plates and placemats for the dining table too. He’d make it look nice. Set the scene. Then, if there was time, he could wander out of town a little, not too far, but just enough to find some pine cones and fir branches so the place felt like home. There was probably a vase in the apartment somewhere. But a bottle would do. And then they’d sit across the table from each other and share their news. He’d tell Cooper all about his exciting first day in the theatre with Marge, then Cooper would tell him all about his, about the trance, how frightening it was at first when he could feel something else inside him take him over. Then, how he fought it away. They’d take a walk after dinner. Kiss beneath the sparkling lights, then hurry back to the apartment and pounce on the couch. Their bodies. Their scent. All tangled up as one, kissing.

Peter stretched out a yawn, peering round the side of the booth to watch the old lady pass by. But she’d gone. It was darker outside now too. Snow covering the road was all blue in the twilight. But he’d only been smiling at the old lady just a few seconds ago, he was sure of it. Peter sat back and caught his own reflection in the glass. He looked anxious, drawn, even. He turned the corners of his lips up and watched his own face smiling back at him. But it was strange, like somebody else reassuring him of his own existence sitting there. He huffed on the glass to obscure the other Peter and swiped the mug up in his hand.

He made his way across the lobby to the tiny kitchenette next to Marge’s office. He found a plastic kettle perched on top of the refrigerator because the lead was too short to place it on the work surface. There was some brown grit in a jar labelled Coffee, and one spoon sitting in the sink underneath a soggy teabag. Peter fished it out and ran it under the tap. Then he made his way out to Marge’s office while the kettle was boiling and quietly knocked on the door.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he said, “but I’m making a cup of coffee if you’d like one.”

He held back at the door a moment. Nobody answered. Marge must’ve have gone to inspect the auditorium or something, so Peter made his way back towards the kitchenette when he briefly glanced back.