This is a small space, and eternally crowded, except for today. Today it was half empty but somehow still crowded: you can't make a move without moving something else. Pull your arm out of your coat sleeve, there goes a menu. Lean against a chair, your fork falls to the floor. Every action is an opposition, every breath a rebalancing. Still, it isn't fussy. Just cram yourself in there & go to town. My friend Elaine and I sat at a table pressed up against the dessert counter, boxed in between two old broads on one side and an old codger on the other. They chattered, he read. I had the bangers and mash, natch, plus a cup of coffee and this slice of lemon cake. The streets were quiet. In New York the holiday lasts till Monday.