Molly and I went to brunch in San Francisco on Sunday. Citizen Cake has very spicy Bloody Marys, delectable donut balls, and an annoying website with Flash and auto-loading audio. The new floor plan of the restaurant, while airier than before, does kind of pack in the Citizens — not a tragedy if one likes to eavesdrop on people.

We have a table next to a good-looking couple. As we sit down, the gent is making a big production of being dramatically, humorously pouty at his lady friend.

Man: I just feel so far away from you! I’ll have to, like, call you to talk to you!

Woman: Ah. Ha ha.

They beam at each other. He reaches across the table and takes her hand. They chitchat, unmonitored by Molly and me, as we place our drink orders. But we tune back in soon enough.

Man: We should get married! We’ll need an extra room for an office! And a TV! A flat screen TV!

Woman: Wow.

He leans forward, touching his knees to hers.

Woman: I have to go back to Italy as soon as possible.

Man: And we’ll buy a fish! We’ll name him Sparky!

The woman’s smile looks frozen.

Man [to us]: Wow! Those donuts look awesome!

Becky: Ah. Ha ha.

[Molly actually overheard the marriage-talk part — I was too busy weighing the merits of brisket hash vs. omelette with peas and nettles. I’ve transcribed her description as best I could. And I made up the part about the fish, but that’s totally what he was thinking. I wish them luck on their new life together.]