Mildew was a Layer of Her Eggs of Being

Lawrence sat in the corner booth, the one at the end that was half a booth, directly facing a graffitied brick wall. His knees cold up against the muscles of brick.
He hoped she might forget him there. He had neither money for the check, nor the will to go back home to his abusive companion.
It’s probably why they sat him there in the first place. An awkward and blind escape from that angle.
“They had hoped to embarrass him, I imagine.”