more (excerpt)
license plate, no name. these clothes don't really fit. i need a shower. first food, then shower. 'i remember the last time we went out to dinner. you were sitting across from me in this crowded crowded restaurant, staring up into a corner of the ceiling. your eyes looked wet, it crossed my mind that maybe you were upset enough to cry, but well, that just couldn't be. i'd never seen you cry, not in all the years i've known you. why would you start now? the waiter came, his height was such and the tables were such that his skinny jutting hip bones rubbed on the edge of the table as he leaned in to try and hear what you were saying, speaking so softly no one could hear you over the noise, lips moving, i imagine if the room had been silent those movements would have made a sound similar to turning pages in a book made of thick paper.
This passage is an intriguing blend of mundane detail and emotional undercurrents, with a literary voice that's both intimate and slightly detached. The author's choice to start with small observations like the need for food and a shower sets a grounded tone before diving into memories, which adds to the realism but also creates a sense of fragmentation that mirrors the character's internal state. The vivid imagery in describing the waiter's hip bones rubbing against the table is particularly striking; it brings a tangible presence to the scene while also highlighting the narrator's acute observational skills and perhaps their need to focus on minutiae as a way to avoid confrontation or deeper emotional engagement. The theme of silent suffering is palpable, especially with the image of lips moving inaudibly like pages turning—this metaphor encapsulates both the inarticulateness of grief and the weighty silence between characters. However, while these elements are powerful, the abrupt shifts between scenes might benefit from smoother transitions to maintain a more cohesive flow throughout the passage.
—qwen2.5:32b, 2026-01-14