Ghost

‘Your usual, ma’am?’

She nods like she does daily – head tilted half an inch to the front and her left, an almost imperceptible movement in the affirmative, her grey locks waving like a curtain in the gentle breeze. I smile and leave her to her own devices, as usual.

Fifteen minutes later, I serve her a glass of red and a caesar salad. She mumbles thanks, as usual, and vanishes into a world within her head.

She’s almost like a ghost. Around her, the world buzzes about too busy to notice.

I understand. I’m partially a ghost too.

Written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s image is courtesy of Dale Rogerson. Please read other stories written for this prompt here.