Not eating lunch at all, and surrounded by people, he's watching television, the illiterate slob. Very far away, two people aren't playing Scrabble at all; indeed one of them looks positively peaceful. Silence falls on the assembly as one of the waiters keeps a glass balanced carefully on his tray; as a result no one rushes to his aid. Far from it; one of the patrons selfishly keeps her napkins to herself.
Two hours earlier, he's sitting in the sunshine alone, ignorant of the arts and nowhere near the intersection of 34th and Fremont. No bicyclists are riding today, in an orderly fashion within the traffic. He dwells on the past.