On a mild, mid-summer's morning, awakening in the penthouse suite to a panoramic view of the morning calm, he feels a cold sweat begin to spread up his body and nip at the nape of his neck.
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"Sir, shall I take your order?" Snapping out from the velvety fog of distraction he briefly glances at the menu cover, and rotely rattles off the same combination of dishes he always has: A++ Hanwoo tartare to start followed by a sardine sashimi, light on the pepper. Shaking his head softly as the waitress sprints back to the pass, he raises his arm, platinum watch scraping lovely against the wooden beads of his Buddhist bracelet, and begins to massage his temples, eyes closed tight. Aside from his beating Swiss heart, the world fades from view and again he falls into that warm gray sphere of nothingness. The clatter of the first course being laid out snaps him back to reality; and then he sees her.
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