I don’t know if it was the way the scene was framed as I was climbing up the stairs from the washroom with a heavy load on my shoulders and a backpack when you emerged from the cramped kitchen, mouth wide, mid-yawn, the apron stretching with your body, that made me pause for half a second. Or maybe it was because I’ve watched too many Wes Anderson films. I wondered if you'd turn and break the perfect shot, an overworked man among the dish trays caught in the rectangular shape of the doorframe, to turn and see me. A part of me wished you would. You did. I hit fast forward on my steps and got out faster than I came in. They say go with your guts, but now I'm thinking I should my go with my bladder's choice of restaurants from now on.