Le Gourmand, waiting for a large Americano.

White male, mid 50s, with long grey hair pulled into tight ponytail, bundled in winter coat and scarf, sitting near the door, leaned forward, hands stuffed in pockets, floral-patterned eyeglass case weighting the pages.

Souls on Fire, Elie Wiesel (Simon & Schuster)

Near the beginning:

The heavens were in an uproar. The angels were dancing. Red with anger, outraged, Satan demanded an audience with God. Brought before him, he protested, invoking laws and precedents, history and reason. Look at man's impudence, he said, how dare he take things in his own hands? Does the world deserve redemption?

He hadn't seen her in weeks. She was glad he called. He scanned her bookshelf while she waited for the kettle to boil, waited for him to take the first step. He pulled the spine forward and looked at the cover, held it up. She nodded, smiled, even though he hadn't returned the others, maybe sold them, she couldn't know.