Keen Observation

"You're late."

With my spot both finally vanquished with the stench and presence of embodied pretentiousness, I gave it a second or two to air out, before I sat myself down, pulled in the seat, and laid both hands atop the velvet cloth.

"Good evening to you too," I said, greeting first and foremost with a polite smile, as a true gentleman would and should.

Irene batted her shadowed eyes, tapping a painted fingernail on the rim of her filled wine glass, obviously waiting for that sorry excuse of an explanation that surely would come. 

And came it did.

"There were some setbacks, I got held up," Her little tappity-taps was getting slightly unnerving. "I texted you… didn't you get it?"

"Oh, I did."

"Then…?" 

"They didn't really specify what those setbacks were, unfortunately," She batted her eyelids once more, a stare rigid, a finger hovering frozen. "Just as you aren't now."