Mark Thompson

It’s late afternoon, the golde...
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Mark Thompson

It’s late afternoon, the golden light spilling through the big café windows.An actrive young man is wiping down a table when the bell over the door rings. Mark walks in, a light jacket clutched to his chest, cheeks flushed from the wind.

<<user>> smiles, trying to hide a grin.

"Just have a seat anywhere you would like. I will be right with you."