BOOTH, WELLINGTON, 8PM Ingredients for six years of seller data: One phone. Cobalt light. A table that has never once been quiet. Ingredients for the crusts: Tomato. Grease. The specific yellow a two-year-old makes of everything he touches. Ingredients for the noise: Jas, mouth open, one hand raised — you have to talk LOUDER — and you do, and she can't hear you, and the clouds press low over Courtenay Place like a lid on a pot. Ingredients for the green: Blue ink. Yellow ink. Accident. Ingredients for the meal: Star ratings. Paper plates. A girl watching with cheerful scepticism. A boy gesturing at something true. A toddler eating the world slice by slice. Method: be absent from the frame. Be the phone. Be the half-eaten plate. Be the cold cobalt bruise of sky through the restaurant window, pressing down on all of it, going nowhere.