The main character decides to write a short story about a person sitting in a restaurant, eating lunch by himself, reading a book, and taking notes. He decides it might be a good idea to write the story in an assortment of styles, but in order to do that he needs some more characters, so he jots down some notes about two people playing Scrabble at the table adjacent to the writer in the story. To lend the narrative a bit of mystery he gives one of the players a puzzled expression, but does not explain why.
He's not a particularly good writer, incapable of much more than relating a sequence of disconnected events, one after the other; so for no apparent reason he shifts the narrative focus to the other side of the restaurant, and describes how one of the waiters drops a full glass of water to the floor. This actually happened in a restaurant patronized by the main character a few weeks ago, you see, and he is perhaps taking the cliche "write what you know" a bit too seriously. When that happened—in the main character's life, I mean—two other waiters came to his aid, and a nearby patron offered a napkin to help clean up the mess, so that's exactly what happens in his aimless, meandering story.
The main character abruptly shifts the scene outside, two hours later, where we find the writer from the story standing outside in the rain talking with his friends about a statue that has been much on the main character's mind of late. Rather than provide the poor, befuddled reader with any of the discourse's content, he injects a pointless bicyclist into the scene, weaving madly (perhaps a veiled reference to our hapless author's train of thought?) through traffic. He concludes with an oblique reference to recent developments that really doesn't make any sense at all, in this context.