Around 1 p.m. a perfectly normal looking young man was having lunch in La Maison.
“How is your chicken,” the waitress asked. (Based on her accent I would say that she was from France.)
“My chicken is a chicken,” the man answered.
The waitress looked flabbergasted.
After the chicken the man ordered a coffee and then he asked for the check.
He was already standing when he asked the waitress: “Could you step outside with me?” “Why?’ the waitress wanted to know.
“I would like to ask you something,” he said.
“Eh,” she said. “No.” “Just one small question,” he whispered.
“No,” the waitress said, clearly embarrassed.
“No problem,” the young man declared and then he left.