He sat alone.
He watched her scrape the painted letters from the window; watched FINE ARTS CAFE become FINE ART, then FINE and finally FIN.
She took a break.
He couldn’t bear to watch anymore anyway, imagined PAINTING becoming mere PAINT, then PAIN; LESSONS, LESS.
Having finished his coffee, he talked to the café owner about her plans now that she’d finally served up her last cup.
He mentally counted out the other empty storefronts, some of the buildings invisible from where he sat, their windows staring out at a rapidly fading Main Street.
He knew he’d be gone soon, too.