He typically makes his monthly run to the landfill on a Saturday morning, but it’s Friday and he has the day off because tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, so he goes through the automatic motions and is surprised not to find the weekend cadre of geezers at the bookstore’s café as usual. Instead, the place is buzzing with what he supposes is the usual weekday ebb and flow of book and card shoppers, none of whom seem at all familiar because he never has an opportunity to sit around over coffee on a workday morning.
He’s surprised that he misses the geezers and their Saturday chatter, but he’s not extremely surprised. Like them, he has become a creature of small changes and steady habits. He wonders if they will still gather at these same tables tomorrow, it being Christmas Eve and all, and wonders if, gathering, they will note his absence. One of these he doubts, the other he does not.