He always sits at the corner table by the window. If someone else has taken his spot, he won’t come through the door. Sinclair is a thin man who looks like he has lost a great deal of weight — folds of pale flesh drip off his bones like melting snow. He’s bald too, so most people assume he is suffering from some terrible disease. No one imagines he’s on a diet because Sinclair always orders two fried breakfasts for himself and puts four sugars in his tea. He eats the lot methodically as he stares out of his window into the distance.