Nikos Parakis looked at his watch and frowned. If he wanted to make it to the meeting on time, he was going to have to skip lunch. He couldn't afford any distractions, as he'd left his home in Holland Park, his base of operations in the UK, a little late because he'd been distracted by a long video conference with Russian clients. Besides, to get some exercise and fresh air on that summer morning, he'd decided not to drive and instead took a taxi across the park to Kensington High Street.
By the time he reached the wide, tree-lined pavement, he was starving. He definitely needed to recharge his batteries.
On impulse, he crossed the street and headed for a takeout establishment. He wasn't a fussy eater, even though he had the entire Parakis family wealth at his disposal. A sandwich was a sandwich, no matter where it came from.
However, as soon as he walked in, he almost changed his mind. It was an old-fashioned place, one of those where sandwiches were made by hand at the time of order, with a bunch of ingredients stored in plastic jars behind the counter.
Damn, Nikos said to himself, irritated. He didn't have time for that.
But it was there and he was going to have to settle for waiting.
"Do you have anything already prepared?" he asked the person behind the counter. He didn't mean to be rude, but he was hungry and in a hurry.
The waitress, whose back was turned, continued buttering a piece of bread. Nikos felt increasingly irritated.
"Get in line, man," someone next to him said. "You have to wait your turn." Nikos turned to a disheveled older man who was
sitting on a stool at the bar.
"I'll be right with you," the waitress said, probably referring to Nikos, as she piled the ham on top of the buttered bread. She wrapped it

then onto a napkin and handed it to the man sitting on the stool, along with a cup of tea.
The old man leaned a little closer to Nikos. It had clearly been a while since the guy had showered. Besides, he reeked of alcohol.
"You don't have any loose change?" the old man asked hopefully.
"No," Nikos replied, turning his attention back to the waitress, who was wiping the table with a cloth.
The other man headed for the door.
–Stay away from the wine, Joe. It's killing you!
"I'll quit someday, really," the man replied, and walked out with the sandwich in his hand.
Surely the waitress hadn't charged him, thought Nikos, who hadn't witnessed any transaction. But that wasn't his concern. So he repeated his question about whether there were any sandwiches ready, with visible impatience.
"No," the waitress replied, turning to pick something up from the table.
From her tone of voice, she seemed annoyed, Nikos noticed.
–Then give me whatever is quickest.
Nikos looked at his watch and frowned again. It was ridiculous. What a way to waste time!
–What would you like?
Nikos thought it was a silly question and frowned deeper.
–I said as quickly as possible.
"That would be a piece of cake," she replied. The antagonism in her tone of voice was unmistakable.
Nikos stopped looking at his watch.
"With ham," he replied, not hiding his irritation either.
–White or whole-wheat bread? Sliced or baguette?
"As soon as possible," he repeated. How many times did he have to say it?
–Well, molded, white.
–White bread, then.
–Just ham?