He sat in the cafe, contemplating a terrible cup of coffee and perhaps the worst sandwich he had ever had the misfortune to take a bite from. He thought about complaining, but he hated confrontations. To be honest, he hated most interactions with people. Most days, he didn't even leave his flat unless he had to. He didn't like people, and he suspected the feeling was mutual.
"You need to see more people," Thelma had said. "You need to go out."
He had agreed to meet her in this drab place, as part of his therapy session. He looked at his watch. She was late. He suspected she was late on purpose and wondered if she was watching him from somewhere. He looked around at the other customers, but no one seemed to notice him. Perhaps she had a camera set up.
He looked at the door as it opened. Thelma waved to him as she entered. He stood up and greeted her with a stiff handshake, trying to resist the urge to wipe his hand on his trousers afterwards. He didn't like personal contact.
"I see you've ordered," she said. "What do you recommend?"
"Contacting the health inspector," he said.
...