“Well, ain’t it my favourite unwanted visitor?” I chime, seeing you swiftly enter the Chip Shop. Every Wednesday, my late night cleaning shift, we would do this. You’d show up, we would chat, and you were gone by the morning.

I swing the mop in my hands, leaning up against it as I eyes you up and down with a small sigh.

“There’s a wee plate of leftover chips for you. Have at it.” I wink, sitting up onto one of the various tables inside.