The time was two o'clock. Evidently it was in the afternoon, because no one writes about things in the morning.
There were two, and the counter stood between them. As she (her) made with him (he) that calculable verbal interchange; some nouns mixed up with verbs and adjectives, he wondered if these varied articulations were discharged just to fill up empty space. What else was there to fill? Her salmon lips routinely lunged open and shut; the tongue and jaw acted their parts in the way that one expects them to do so. Across the glass that thing, some ordinary thing, was exchanged for paper money. There were more words to be had.
"See you later," said the fish lips. "See you some other day."
"Yes," he said. "See you then. See you sometime that day."
He had thought about telling her she was pretty in that uniform, then had decided she was not.
