Three hours earlier, Iceland.
Morning had just passed. A faintly chilly wind blew in from the distant mountains, sending birds soaring up from the branches.
In town, the door of a fast-food restaurant was pushed open with a jingle.
The owner behind the counter looked up, adjusted his glasses, and saw a familiar customer.
Outside, amid the fine drizzle, a man in round tortoiseshell glasses put away his umbrella and set it on the rack. After stamping the water off his shoes on the mat, he walked in and took a seat at the counter.
When he removed his hat, his graying hair was revealed.
"Morning, Mr. Lu."
The owner approached with a coffee pot and poured him a steaming cup of coffee to ward off the chill. "What'll you have today? The usual?"
"Yes, and a loaf of toast to go."
The man called Mr. Lu looked somewhat aged, though it was impossible to tell exactly how old he was. He merely cradled his coffee cup, took a small sip, and waited quietly.
In this small town, the residents all knew one another. When they saw him come in, they greeted him warmly, and he returned every greeting with gentle courtesy.
Soon, the owner returned from the kitchen and set down a plate and the packaged toast. With no rush to get back to work, he casually chatted with Mr. Lu amid the old jazz playing from the jukebox.
Business was slow, anyway.
"Now that's rare. I've never seen you order toast before." The elderly owner leaned against the counter, asking curiously, "What, trying a new flavor?"
"Yes."
Mr. Lu nodded. "Life is long. One has to find a little new pleasure now and then."
He always ate unhurriedly. Though it was only an ordinary fish-and-chips meal, he still