Second stool from the end. Same bowl, same hour, every night since I decided that the day does not count until I have eaten it away.
The owner stopped asking what I want around the fourth month. Now the bowl is already steaming when I climb up, and neither of us has to perform the part where we pretend this is a surprise.
I do not come here for the noodles. The noodles are the excuse. I come here because it is the only room where nobody has ever once asked me how I am doing.
Around two in the morning the lanterns get softer and the whole place starts to feel like it is on my side. That is the hour I stay for.
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