Twice a day I eat. Usually something cold. My fingernails are rarely pared.
That is all that is written on the napkin. It is handed to a man sitting alone at a bar. Curious, the man says. Then throws the napkin to the floor.
Later that night a man is sweeping the bar floor. He comes across the discarded napkin. Picking it up he notices that there are letters written on it. Disgusting, the man says, not actually having read the note. Sickening. He throws the napkin to the floor and sweeps it up.
Weeks later another napkin appears in the bar with letters written on it. This time, however, it is neither handed to the man sitting alone at the bar nor swept up by the man who sweeps up. It is simply there for a while and then not. That is all.