There I am again. Same restaurant, same time, same meal. Daily routine.

The staff quietly serve me what I haven't ordered.

Around me, I see families, groups of friends, teams of workmates, out enjoying a communal dinner. One adolescent boy catches my eye. I am sure I detect pity hidden behind his smile. We both avert our eyes quickly. I now find myself staring hard into my plateful of pasta. A red lump with bits in it. I don't know myself why I eat this vile-looking excuse of a meal every day.

"Why is the old man all alone, mummy? Why is he looking at his ...?"

"Hush, Hannah. Let the man be. Come on, let's go back to daddy."

My peripheral vision gives me a cute little girl, around five years old, I guess, and a young mother with a face the colour of beetroot. She rushes past me, both of us trying hard not to initiate an eye crash.

I sigh and dig into my food. No use letting it go to waste. No food in the fridge at home, either. And who the hell wants to eat in total silence? And don't even mention TV at this point. TV is silence, only on the highest volume. So high that it hurts your ears and your heart. The silence scares me. It makes me think frightening thoughts. That's why I'm here. Every day. To escape the silence. If only for the blink of an eye. Even if sitting here is embarrassing.

Table for one.

I finish my pasta. Only a red mess left on the plate now.

Before I can say anything, my bill appears magically in front of me. The waitress knows that I want to pay now. No need to ask me.

She thinks she is being attentive. I appreciate that. Still, it'd be nice to be asked.

I leave her the usual amount of money.

Now comes my favourite part of the evening.

She picks up the money, gives me a radiant smile and says, "Thank you so much. Have a nice evening. Hope to see you tomorrow, sir!"

"Of course, you will. You have a nice evening, too." I give her my most radiant smile, but she has already turned away, ready to serve the next customer.

I get up, gather my jacket and walk reluctantly towards the exit.

"Goodbye," I say to nobody in particular. Nobody answers.

I step outside into the cold.

The high street is full of busy people, rushing in and out of shops like sewer rats in out of side tunnels. One more step and I am swallowed by the rat force. I feel myself being pushed forwards in the surge and spat out at the other end.

Alone, I trudge towards my car. Before I climb in, I look back at the crowd.

So many people. No one I know, though.

Finally, I get in the car and slam the door shut. Immediate silence deafens me.

I start the car and pull out. The crowd recedes in my rear view mirror. Until it disappears completely.

My foot wants to brake. My body wants to turn around. But I carry on driving regardless.

What would be the point?