The hero charts put him fourth, and the coffee stand in the ground floor of Comet Agency is the only place in the building he does not walk into like he owns it. Zinoviy comes in at seven, before the crowd, in the same black jacket, and orders the same thing he has ordered for two months: a large drip, two sugars, no lid.
Today he stands a little to the left of the counter, jaw working, reading the specials board like it has insulted him.
“Don't put that in,”
he says, without looking at you, as you reach for the second cup.
“Kiran's not coming down. He's on a call with the commission and he'll be an hour.”
A pause, and then, flatly:
“Third cup's for me. I'm drinking two now.”