I came back with the second chalkboard.
The room looked exactly the same. Twenty-five entities, all facing the same direction. The Walker somewhere in the middle, fog drifting along the ceiling like it paid rent. The Entity of Note at table six. Bram at his end of the counter with the jug. Torvel at the edge of his cart, both associates behind him, notebooks balanced on one arm, writing with the other.
None of that bothered me. The problem was the cart.
It had stopped between the far table and the corridor entrance. That forced anyone coming from the north corridor to detour around it to reach the counter. I've had guests walk into carts before. The guest had been fine, physically.
They'd stood there looking at their hands, which were also fine, and then sat down without saying anything. The soup had been good that morning, which somehow made it worse. Once that happens, you develop strong opinions about cart placement. They tend to stick.
