Postcards: Story 1

Right, I quite like writing then sending postcards. Also, I don't think it's a terrible idea to put them on here: I may as well "publish" something. As a result of the following text being copied directly from (often hastily-written) postcards, it has no paragraphs to speak of, is clumsily concise and contains some true "pre-edit" English work. However, it may still have some minor merits as a piece of fiction. Thus, enjoy:

He watched her pass by the cafe door, glance inside directly at him, stop and, with a fixed expression, walk in. She sat right in front of him, separated by a cup of strong, sweet tea and a plastic tomato. She looked at him, expectantly. "What happened to you?" She had curbed her voice so not to spit the words out. He looked at her blankly: he was feeling quite fragile after the previous night's excess. "Do I know you" he offered, wincing slightly from the effort. Her fixed expression slowly turned to one of incredulity, then something resembling outrage. "So that's how it is then?" She was no longer curbing. He looked at his tea, once again deciding against a sip, and wracked his sketchy memories. He squinted at her. This did not seem to help. "Well clearly I was wrong after all," she was just purely angry now, "I get up and you're already gone, and to the cafe over the road!" It was then he saw his twin pass the cafe door, glance inside directly at them, stop briefly, and walk briskly on.