There are two big blue planters outside the restaurants front door with plants that are in need of some attention. She notes this, but tries not to make it mean anything. After all, she can’t keep the plants on her apartment balcony alive.
She opens the red door with the impossibly huge block of wood posing as a door handle and steps inside. It’s warm, that’s good, and smells faintly spicy. There’s a barrier between this waiting area and the seats inside the restaurant. Also good.
A man sits on one of the chairs near the door, waiting for take outs she guesses, as she waits for one of the staff to notice her.