Mattias Astor Bambach sat in his favourite diner, in his favourite chair. He loved sitting in there, sometimes he would merely order coffee and sit, listening to the sounds of people. These were sounds he enjoyed, for in his office it was much too quiet.

He would sit and listen to people’s conversations, not to the words, mind you (for that would be rude), but simply the sounds of their voices. The rough voices of two old men at the counter, discussing how “… everything has just been downhill since the war,” the laughter of the group of people in the corner, sharing some joke Mattias was not privy to. The various conversations all about him, too numerous to name.

He listened to people eat their meals: the scrape of a fork across a plate in a vain attempt to gather the last bit of yolk, the scooting of a dish as someone brought their pancakes around to the eating position, a spoon hitting the sides of a cup as the man in the corner stirred some milk into his tea.

Mattias glanced down at the paper beside him. He read a bit of an article entitled “FEAR, LOATHING IN THE STATE OF ALSACE-LORRAINE,” but it failed to sustain his interest. He turned the page, and began to study a photograph of a peculiar man with a strange moustache, standing amidst several German officers. This man had apparently just been arrested in Bavaria for attempting a Putsch, but the problem “was completely under control” according to a local constable. At the precise moment Mattias began to read the article, the waitress handed him a note.

“Who’s this from?”

“Didn’t say luv.”

“Thank you.”

Mattias looked at the note. It was a simple folded up piece of paper, and it was evident that it had been in a pocket for some time. Mattias unfolded the paper, taking care not to tear it. The note read:

сука

Mattias stared blankly at the paper. This could not possibly be for him. He glanced around the diner, but only saw the same things he saw every day. The fools! Did they not know what anguish he was facing? What slight against him had just been wrought? A rage filled Mattias.

He crumpled the paper in his fist, and slammed it against the counter, spilling coffee. He threw his plate against the wall, shattering the dish into a thousand pieces. All sound in the diner stopped. He turned and faced the people, who were now afraid. He had heard them laughing, talking, laughing and talking about him. Laughing at the сука in the diner.

His vision went red, and he approached a nearby table. The pensioner in the booth cowered behind his frail arms. Mattias placed his hands under the table’s lip, and flipped it over, out the window.