Sightseer is a raw and gritty look into the underbelly of the Aria Kalsan universe. The main character, Niam, journies through a TerraBase, or the domed cities of Aria Kalsan. Written informally at the old Aria Kalsan online forum, Sightseer Part I expanded over several months.
Sightseer Part: I, by Christopher Bowes
Niam stood next to the scratched, clear walls of the TerraBase drinking in all the sights that could be seen. There were brown earthen rocks filled with veins of minerals that bled red when the acid rains fell, and green clouds that roiled and boiled overhead… dust and dirt were eaten by this when the clouds dropped and became fog. There was no sky, no stars at shone night, and no clean smell came when the rain came, deafening the city as it tap-tap-tapped on their ceiling.
There was nothing outside that one could love—even the sunlight was sickened, burning a dark, murky green overhead.
Niam pressed against the glass, putting both hands up as high as possible. One could look out, but one could not get out.
Pushing against the curved glass was the furthest one could go, and Niam knew this well.
A collection of pillars rose behind Niam and the safety of the TerraBase dome—buildings that housed both servant and master rose as the approached the center until the tallest all but touched the glass ceiling above. Beyond those buildings was a wall that divided the Elite from their servants, and another wall that separated the servants of the servants.
Niam stood at the edge of home and stared out into the lifeless outside. To go out meant death, but the fate inside the dome appeared no more friendly.
Unable to go further, and tied to life, Niam turned and faced the city.
The buildings that stood directly before Niam were short and squat. The walls of most were constructed of rough-hewn stone. The cracks where the stones had been fit together were plugged with loose soil and gravel—a few had added their own soils to secure the gravel and soil in place, so that neither wind or eyesight could make it’s way inside.
People had constructed roofs from all manner of scrap, though most slept with the dome of the TerraBase as their ceiling, and their homes were simple cubes. Some had laced cardboard together with twine, while others—the rich of the poor—had constructed walls inside their homes to support slats-stones above their heads.
None grew a garden, and only a scant few decorated outside their homes. What decoration did exist would have been considered trash at most other times in history. Here, the decoration existed as treasure. Niam knew the good stuff was kept inside the homes, but a lot of people had placed what they thought to be trade-able outside as neighborhood merchandise—stolen goods were assumed to have been taken by the truly needy. Those who stole only faced risk if they were proven to have taken for profit, instead of for a need.
Banishment was a word for death among the poor.
There were no wheel ruts eating into the streets of “Out-City”—the part furthest from the high-rise center of the TerraBase—as very few vehicles ever passed through. The streets were bare of everything but dust—not even a cigarette butts or candy wrapper could be found. The Barons might not care about wasteful packaging, but few could turn down a scrap of plastic or a cotton cigarette-filter. Niam’s grandmother had once made a sweatshirt out of cigarette filters after cleaning the tars from the cigarette from the cotton fibers.
Tar itself was a treasure all alone.
Niam took one more look through the dome that protected the TerraBase and moved one step forward. While the walk to the dome wall had always been a hated one, the walk back had always soured Niam’s heart even more so.
Niam passed the first home and looked upon three children playing in the dirt outside of the rocky abode. Two of them had shaped shuttles out of some scavenged aluminum foil and cardboard. While not pretty, the cargo bay on the toy shuttles appeared to open. The third child had a rover made of the same materials. It even rolled—though clumsily—with the help of eight bottle-cap wheels.
The child driving his rover had mapped a world complete with roads and cities in the dirt. Rocks appeared to be sites of interest, as roads had been bent to intersect some of them, when not leading directly to them.
The children who were playing with shuttles had mapped out their own places to travel as well—worlds and roads to worlds. Each world had a cup on it that had a hole on the bottom.
“You’re turn.” said one of the children with a shuttle. “Where do you go?”
The other child placed ten stones in the bay of his shuttle as he looked at the map, then picked up his shuttle. “I’m going to Val… to sell…” The child looked at the ground, the circled “water” as his cargo. He then also crossed out part of a number, making the figure smaller when he rewrote it.
Niam also saw several other things written in the dirt next to the circled water, all with numbers next to them. It appeared that the children kept track of their score in the dirt—how much of what they possessed, and what they had earned.
The child moved his shuttle to the world he had called “Val,” then drew a stone from the narrow hole in the cup. “Two dots. That leaves me with eight units in my cargo bay.” He removed two stones from his shuttle.
“Draw again…” said the other child as he rose on his knees. He beat his hands on his leg with anticipation.
The child took a second stone. It was red, dotted as well. “Ohh…”
“Bad stock? How mutch’a loose?”
“Three dots on a red… only thirty percent of the value… I could’a gotten ten dots and lost uh hundret percent. Water sells pretty good, though, so I still made enough money to fly to another world.”
The boy who had risen to his knees moved his shuttle after erasing some of his credits and declaring that he would travel to Dete to sell some hewn granite. He put no stones in his shuttle, as he already carried seven units with him. The boy drew a red five after setting his shuttle down, signifying that he had lost fifty-percent of the seven cargo units he had carried to an accident. The boy then drew another red stone, showing that he had lost credits to bad stock. It was the same red five, and the boy lost fifty-percent of the value of the granite he had lost.
The other boy took his turn again and produced a nine-dot white stone when he moved to Cafardia, which allowed him to sell his eight units of water, with a ten-percent bonus, as he had only had eight units, instead of nine. He drew another white stone—this one had four dots on it—and made a profit of forty-percent of the waters value in stock, as well.
The child smiled as he crossed out his money and re-wrote the larger figure on the ground.
“This game is dumb,” said the other. “I hate losing money selling things, and it’s stupid that you make that much money just selling something. I hate this stupid game.”
“It’s just a game…”
“No it’s not, Miel, which is the stupid thing. It’s always the same stuff being sold, but the prices always change.”
“That’s because there’s only so much of stuff, you know, and everyone wants it, and money is made. Sometimes, people don’t need something, but someone has to sell it anyways, cuz they made too much.”
“It’s not fair that you can sell something for more because everyone wants it. That means the same people get it every time.”
“Jhaka, I know. It’s just a game. We can walk around, if you want. Play “Kalsan,” or something.”
“Nah. I’ll beat you. Subtract your fee and take your free-turn home to fill your cargo bay back up.”
Niam watched the boys for a short time longer. Jhaka won three turns, then lost a fortune of ore to cargo-loss and bad stock. The cost and lost cargo nearly bankrupted him, but he was still in the game, as Miel had only managed to break even during his turns.
The third child was drawing yet another city for his rover to drive to, mumbling “space, space, space,” to himself as he drew. “We need more space.”
Niam walked on after enough had been seen, leaving the gamers to their games. There were other children around, and Niam watched them all play their games in passing towards home. Some jumped rope, while others climbed upon the stone roofs and walls of the houses. Others played their own favorite games in the dirt.
Most appeared to be having fun—striving to have fun—despite the things they lacked.
Many of the adults Niam crossed paths with looked quite different—their eyes were tired, and some seemed to cut with anger as Niam passed them. They all looked bone-ragged—people one would not want to be—and cold inside. Niam guessed that few had slept well since their own childhoods, and their eyes would cut every child the same.
Some did manage “hello’s,” however, despite their worn and tired look. They freely shared themselves with Niam in, even giving smiles.
These were few and far in-between, however.
Poverty had nearly killed the love for mankind, and many looked as if they wouldn’t even spare a happy moment with their family members, if they didn’t’ have to.
Each new face was a window to a unique world, and Niam studied each well, looking not only at the eyes and wrinkles of the people, but the smile-lines and posture. Each detail told a story. Many were dark, stormy, and full of dread, though there were a few cast out sunshine on all who passed.
It was, however, a sunshine that could anger those who had seen no light for ages, and many storms brushed across the sunshine in attempts of dimming it.
Niam saw mothers and fathers, some of which had found peace devoting themselves to others. There were also faces that told of grief found in offspring.
These people were most likely saddened by a burden they felt they could not carry—did not deserve to carry, as if their children were punishment—though Niam did not know how one could hate their child.
Did not everyone know that a child is a piece of a whole that could be made tempered stronger than the original?
While there were parents who carried their children, dressing them well and making sure they were fed and cleaned, there were others who had fancied themselves up instead—their children were waif thin and covered in rags. Such people were more common than their loving peers, and it sickened Niam beyond formable emotion. There was anger, but it had been bred with contempt. There was also sadness, though it too had been bred with another emotion—hate. There was love, bred with destruction.
There was confusion, which ruled all.
Helplessness.
Niam could conceive no good ideas, and so chose to make fast tracks past these people. Dust that had accumulated through generations puffed up with each step, and only one though persisted…
This place is dying.
There might be games to play in the dirt, and smiles among young friends, but most of the children in the outer ring would not surpass their parents. They would be held back by themselves and each other, unable to break the mold they had been made to fill. These people, with their hollow hearts and broken souls, would persist forever.
They would persist from generation to generation until they hose to free themselves, and that was the sad truth.
If only someone could help them begin.
Niam stopped and took one last look down the street towards the dome-wall of the TerraBase, knowing that soon the sight would be only a memory for weeks, if not months. Niam drank in the sour green air and dead planet beyond the safety of the glass until no more could be taken in, then turned and began the final walk towards the gate to the next ring of the city.
Towards home.
The gate stood before Niam, dwarfed only by the gathered crowd that wished to move through the gate. Some were simple beggars, while others were simply begging for a kind soul to pass messages to the loved ones who had made their way away from the misery they had lived in.
There were women and children. Men and women. Their faces were all worn, like those Niam had passed on his way towards the gate. He understood why they were tired—their one dream was to work their way towards a slightly better life they would most likely never have. Niam could do nothing but feel a sorrow for them, knowing that his passage through the gate would be guaranteed—he could come and go like a tourist, looking upon the poor while not truly knowing what their life was.
Niam could only feel for them and dream in reverse of how life must be.
Many looked at Niam as he passed them on his way towards the gate guard. Eyes scanned him, leaving him cold—he felt pierced, judged, and in some ways shameful for not having to suffer as they did. The person attending the gate would smile—they always did—and would wish Niam a good day as he went into the airlock and passed on to the next section of the TerraBase.
Niam knew the greeting in passing would be the worst part—those who could not pass should be the ones to receive a wish of a good day. They needed it more.
“Boy, boy,” cried a voice from just behind Niam.
Niam turned slowly, wondering whom the voice belonged to. It was a man, for certain, as the voice was rough. There was also a kindness to it, however, and a mark of familiarity.
“Boy. Could you perhaps…”
Niam froze for a moment, unbelieving.
“It’s been a long time since third grade. How are you, Niam?”
“I’ve been okay.” Niam shrugged despite his efforts to stand still. “How about you, Mr. Broddersen?”
“I survive. Sometimes good things still happen, and that makes life worth living.”
“Yeah.” Niam looked towards the gate, then back at his old teacher. “Good things are good.”
The two stared at each other—the boy looked at a man who had been trained to educate him, and the man stood before the boy he had tried to guide.
“Indeed,” replied the man.
“Why you’re at the gate? Are you visiting…or do you need something?”
“No… I’m not visiting. I need a letter carried to my daughter, if you could.”
Niam looked at the gate again, then looked at his teacher. The man had already retrieved a letter, and now unfolded a rectangle of currency.
“I have only one picture of her, but I can’t give it to you. Could you remember her face? You were always a good student—it should be fairly easy.”
“I’ll try. What’s her name?”
“Aiola,” said the man as he handed over a photo and a paper credit. "Buy her a gift, if you can."
“Aye-oh-la,” repeated Niam.
“It’s getting late for a young one like you. It'll be dark in a few hours.”
Niam could think of nothing to say at first, and so he nodded to acknowledge feelings until words struck him. “I hope I see you again.”
“It was good seeing you, too.”
At that, Niam’s teacher turned and left.
Niam again stood alone among the crowd, watching as his teacher strode back into his world. When Niam could see him no more, he began the last part of the journey towards the gate.
While the crowd was swollen and thick, all had left a path leading towards the gate entrance. Hands thrust forward holding letters— and the voices, while not quite loud, rolled through the area as a wave of sound that crushed all peace. Niam ignored the hands and words as well as he could, holding up the letter his teacher had given him as proof that he was already indebted to another—that he was free of the unspoken requirement that he carry something through the gate with him.
While Niam knew that he would pass many gates on his way home, he knew that this would be the hardest of places to leave. Before this gate stood a crowd of people who had nothing to better themselves with; these were the people who were kept down so that others would have something to be above. These were the people who were left alone because it was easier; these were the people who were kept secret.
Niam took each step slowly, yet steadily as to not miss a beat. When he approached the gatekeeper and the door he could take nothing more than sharp breaths. The gatekeeper leaned towards a microphone, then spoke.
“Identification, please.”
Niam reached into his long-coat and pulled out a long, narrow folder. The gate-guard kept his gaze on Niam as he removed his identification and maintained it still as the boy slid his identification papers into the safe-slot designed to minimize hostile action.
Niam studied the man back as he looked over the papers—the guard appeared to study the papers with great intensity, hoping beyond hope to find something that made the boy a criminal so that he could have a hand in keeping his home safe for he and his masters.
It was noble, if not perhaps misguided goal.
“Malory Grable, of the eleventh ring, please state what your purpose of visit has been.”
Niam answered without missing a beat, “I came to visit an old teacher.”
“I would most likely ignore anything that teacher taught you. Pass as you may.” The man slid Niam’s papers back as a light turned green over a door that had been concealed with nearly inexistent cracks. “Pass quickly. I don’t want a riot.”
Niam nodded to the man and darted for the door—the much-desired gate.
The room inside the gate-wall was narrow, more like a hallway than a true room, but it was a room nevertheless, filled with chairs, tables, and a variety of literature. There were signs on the walls, and several electronic beverage dispensers between the place Niam stood and the far side of the room.
This was a rest area, of sorts.
While most sections of the ringed walls that segregated the population were made of tight fitting stone blocks, the gate-rooms were constructed of various woods and plastics—treasures from off-world—and reinforced with various alloys.
Niam despised such places every time he saw them. The decadence disgusted him. Such rooms were a waste of money that could have been spent to better the people who were barred from passing through from door to door.
Each table was covered in pamphlets about cheap credit, magazines that celebrated personal transportation, and dated news material. The chairs, while utilitarian, were comfortable beyond belief compared to what had existed in the world that was before the entrance.
The room served no purpose other than to educate those passing through that there was a greater world beyond that which they had passed from. There was a world full of mechanical wonder and luxuries beyond count… if one could strive to meet what was required.
For those born in the world who were passing through the doors that had barred them, the room was be a taste of something much larger—much more wonderful.
For those who had been forced out of society, and for those who willingly traveled into the undesired places to seek refuge, the room was a bitter-sick reminder of the things that could be had, and the people who had nothing.
The room was a reminder of the suffocating desires.
The electronic beverage dispenser disgusted Niam the most. It was but the first temptation among many for those who had but only a little money saved, and less to spend.
Niam passed through the room quickly, taking not even three full breaths before stepping into a wider world.
As Niam opened the door, a hot blast of dirty air hit him, filling his lungs on that third breath with the poison of a world gone mad.
Smoke.
Chemicals.
While many had congregated on the other side of the wall, very few waited on this side. There were letter-holder, true, but the people on this side were less interested in hope.
Niam passed these people with little care. He had seen some of their faces on his way to the dome wall and knew for a fact that most were beggars. Some had even appeared to be trying to find jobs with whatever sort of person went to the poor places to make money.
This part of the city was much different than the previous section. The sky was higher, causing the stone homes and roads to reflect thin, sandy-beige brush-strokes across the glass ceiling that kept the, swirling green clouds of their home world at bay.
There was no sunshine, and there would be no stars at night, as the clouds were heavy and unable to break. The only ground that could be seen had been cut into and changed into a manmade creation. There were buildings, walls, a floor, a ceiling… everything had been changed by humanity.
Niam looked across this continual sightline, his eyes fooled by the buildings that rose to meet the distant wall at the horizon..
Niam looked across and prayed that he would not get lost as so many others had. All he had to do was keep on his path and go straight ahead.
"If only I could go straight ahead… this would be so much easier.”
This ring, like the TerraBase, had been divided to separate the people. While the gate to the next ring did stand directly across from where Niam stood, the roads leading away had been built at finny angles, given the place a disjointed look. The small courtyard split into four paths. Three appeared to be quite long leading to Naim’s left and right, while the path leading forward appeared to either stop dead ahead, or split to one or more paths.
“Two long to the left, and one to the right…” Niam turned his head right and left, pondering whether to choose a long path of uncertainty, or a short one. He knew that if one of the long roads was wrong, the journey would eat away his time, but also knew that the short road ahead could hold it’s own perils in the turns it offered, and such perils could also eat his time.
Niam saw men and women walking amongst women and children, as he had seen at the beginning of his journey, but these people were unlike those on the other side of the wall. They carried themselves with a serious nature.
Niam knew why.
While the people living at the far walls of the TerraBase were often treated like garbage, they still had their uses, and while they did have their uses, those who benefited from their use did nothing to raise them out of the garbage they were forced to live in. All were forced to work for their food and shelter, but those who exceeded expectations were granted the ability to have “prizes.” They could buy a few things to entertain their families and themselves, but could rarely afford to buy the things that would improve their squalid existence… and if they did… they would have nothing but a nice looking, empty home.
Most of the children held their heads high--they held pride in their hearts, and knew that they could make themselves “the best” if they tried. Some of the adults also held their heads high… all whom dressed more finely than those they passed, with eyes fixed on the ground.
Some of the buildings had been painted, and a few had been sanded smooth or patched smooth with what could have been dried mud.
Niam could gather no clues as to where to go from what he saw, however. The finer houses were mixed with the less decorated, and the people all walked every-which-a-way.
“I always hate this part…”
Niam stepped forward, then closed his eyes and spun around. If he was to be random, he might as well let blind fate decide his path.
When Niam opened his eyes, he faced the longest of the paths on the left.
“Time to go…”
Niam wasted no time gathering courage or planning his course. He strode down the left (western?) path that fate had chosen for him looking for a way to turn right, which would hopefully lead towards the gate that stood before he and his way home. He walked fast, noticing that the shops were open but nearly empty. Most were business’ that sold tools and building materials—things that help the people hold their world together, though there were some clothing merchants and a food vendor for every fifty or so shops. While none of the businesses were bustling, the food vendors appeared to be suffering for customers the most. He had passed nearly two hundred shops and had seen only a handful of shoppers—no diners sat and ate, and the crowd had thinned considerably.
It felt almost dark, though Niam knew that noon had barely passed.
He had walked at least half of the road as he had seen it before starting his journey before he saw the first off-shoot—a “T” junction that shot off to the left. It was most likely the wrong way towards the wall separating the destitute from the poor, and so Niam chose to continue on.
Nearly half an hour passed before Niam found the first pathway that shot towards what he considered to be North—his destination—and while he wanted to take it that path, he had developed a massive hunger in his belly. He desperately wanted to leave this place, but the uncertainty of when he could find the next restaurant, and what he might find down this new path, drove him past the path he desired, and further down the path he had hated starting.
With luck, he would find food and be back on his path in no time.
Niam had seen several Kroy food-joints and one Asadian restaurant within the past hour, and he could turn back and hit the last restaurant—one that served Kroy cuisine—in less than twenty minutes if he chose to. He also knew that the next restaurant could be less than two minutes away, or as far and thirty minutes away.
Again, he closed his eyes and spun in circles, allowing fate to point his way. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he would indeed continue forward, even though he knew his two steps forward might equal four steps backward.
That first step caused Niam’s heart to ache, but he knew that pain was minor compared to the ache of those who had to live in this barren, brown-faded place.
He passed an old lady pushing an empty stroller first, and three men who looked as if they lived dazed, drugged lives. There were no children here. Niam guessed they were in school, which was good, as such a place was most likely unsafe for them. Not that Niam was exactly safe, but at least Niam knew who he was and could resist some of the temptations offered in the darker parts of the TerraBase’s outer-city.
Niam also passed an out-of-place elderly man who had made a home perched on the windowsill of one of the shops. That man looked at peace, despite the expensive looking newspaper he held, and the misfortune it held inside.
“One-thousand die in Station Flood”
“Baron on Vacation—Local authorities paralyzed.”
Little good could be inside a ‘paper with such a headline, though, and Niam moved on without another look. His heart was already saddened.
He found his sought-after restaurant with little lost time, and went in with a hint of a smile. He loved Stelan food. The smell. The taste. The color…
A middle-age woman greeted him as he stepped in and stopped by the “Please wait here” sign.
“What can I do for you, young one?”
“I’m hungry, and it’s a ways until I get home. Are you serving, now?”
“Indeed I am.” The woman turned her head to the side and pursed her lips in thought. “How far are you from home?”
“Quite a ways.” Niam looked down at his fine shoes, then added. “From the middle rings.”
“Indeed… Follow me, and I’ll get you a menu, though I’m afraid our food might not be as filling as you’re used to.”
Niam tried to sense for despise, but could find none, and so he followed with a smile.
“It’s a long way to your home, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, Mam. I’m hoping to reach home before five. Seven at the latest.”
“Well… you won’t find home this way. I’ll be back in uno momento, and then perhaps we can talk.”
The lady left Niam alone, and in that time, Niam’s eyes scanned over wall paintings portraying scenes of life long gone. The paintings portrayed tightly placed buildings and crowds of people gathered together—smiles crested their faces, and a blue sky sat over their head. There were mountains covered in trees and mountains so old that they had crumbled to stone cores.
There were animals—brightly painted animals that could either be cows or sheep, and what Niam instinctively knew was a horse, for it allowed a man to sit upon it’s back.
Every creature smiled, and every creature stood under a blue sky.
Even the night sky in a painting of dog-things braying at the moon had been tinted blue—a dark blue that might have been a nighttime ocean reflecting onto an atmosphere.
“Ah. Here we go, young one. A menu, and a map, though I suggest you try the fajita grub disk and dispose of the menu so we can discus my map.”
“That sounds like a good plan, Mam. I’d love to try them.”
“Nanarita Vaques, or Tia Nanarita, if you would.”
“Thank you, Tia Nanarita. I’m Niam.”
“Nice to meet you, Niam.” Tia Nanarita sat across from Niam, then unfolded a rough-fiber map. “We are here, in this second ring, and this is the road we sit on.” She pointed to the places as she said them, then tapped her finger on their location. “You will need to walk a long distance after leaving our restaurant, leaving to the right, then take the next left path. You’ll then need to take the path to the right, and then next right, which will lead you down a road right to the next ring. If you need to move quickly, I can even offer you a short-cut through that one and clear to the seventh ring.
“There’s much here that you shouldn’t see, as it will hurt your heart greatly. There is much beyond this ring that you shouldn’t see, as well, but I think you are a boy that might be able to take what you see and turn it into something more beautiful.”
Niam looked around at the pretty-painted walls, and then back at Tia Nanarita. He moved to speak, but was silenced as a young man came out and sat a plate of fajita flavored grub disks down.
“Ah! For you, our very best! My Tia Nanarita mixes the best flavors in the entire sector—your very tongue will taste the blue sky of Earth’s warmth.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The man bowed deeply, then returned to the kitchen.
“Try it,” Tia Nanarita urged.
Niam took one of the oven-warmed cracker-like disks and popped it into his mouth.
Chicken, rice, beans, avocado, sour cream, tomatoes, peppers… they all exploded to life on his tongue.
“Good?”
Niam smiled as his answer.
“Now, young one, listen well. I do have a short cut for you, but you must keep it secret. I only tell this to you because my grandson disappeared on these streets—he was taken as property by one who had little but his hatred… anyways. This way will get you home more quickly.”
Niam watched and studied as Tia Nanarita again pointed his way towards the third-ring-gate, and then towards a secret way that had been tunneled from the third ring to the seventh ring.
“We use this to gather food when we are starving, and to find work where people have grown to lazy to take certain jobs. I beg you to keep it secret, lest you want to kill people with what you know.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Thank you, young one.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“As I said, I lost my grandson.” Tia Nanarita wiped a single tear, then smiled at the boy. “And I can’t help helping a child that still loves to smile, even when it pains them.”
Niam gave her the smile she wanted, then ate another of her famously flavored grub-disks. When he had finished chewing and swallowing, he looked Tia Nanarita in the eye. “I shall do what I can to repay you, though it might be a while… I’m still young.”
“Thank you, Niam. My family has been here ever since this dreary planet was settled, and we shall be here even when you are old. Now, do you remember the directions I gave?”
“I remember.”
“Good. I leave you to eat this as a gift, young one. Remember me well.”
Tia Nanarita stood and scruffed Niam’s hair, then turned and made her was towards the kitchen.
Niam finished his meal in the non-silence of the restaurant trying to etch Tia’s face and the paintings in the restaurant into his mind.
He would indeed return here when he could, and while the meal had been given free as a gift, Niam left a sizeable tip on the table before he left.
To be continued...