The only thing that she changes are her gloves. Today she is wearing tattered silk elbow gloves, one pink, one dingy white. Miss P. turning to her corner table, stops. I know because I was a nice girl. She goes on about her near corruption by a young gentleman, though she explains that she preserved her chastity, and warns I should do the same.
Customers shift, and roll their eyes, all wanting to order their usual.
Miss P. returns to her table. Miss P. has a ritual to drink her coffee. Miss P. first arranges a napkin around her coffee cup, then takes the three sugars and packs them furiously, her mouth counting off the number. Then Miss P. drinks her coffee and stares out the window. In between her sips, Miss P. periodically checks everything in her box.