Michael’s life, if he thought about it kindly, had passed under the radar. If he thought about it otherwise, the verdict was bordering on the tragic. Who else ate the same lunch every day? Well, plenty of people as it happened, but when he found out that he shared a tuna sandwich habit with Woody Allen it depressed him for weeks. Like most people he loved the early films of course, but it wasn’t easy to ignore what he had become.

Most days in the summer he ate alone by the lake reading the newspaper. Occasionally he struck up a desultory conversation with a duck feeder, most of them blissfully unaware that they were slowly killing the poor creatures with stale sourdough. It was that kind of neighborhood.

He did love his job though. Even after the relentless drive towards digital was complete and some of the subtle arts of the projection booth had been lost forever, Michael found joy in being paid to screen beautiful films. Who, he often wondered, would not relish the chance to sit alone in the dark and lose themselves in the images and strange tales conjured up by the like of Kaurismaki or Almodovar. And to see them multiple times. What a privilege.

On the other hand, there was no doubting his loneliness. It was more than a decade since his last relationship ended. It wasn’t really that sudden. He had felt for a long time that he hadn’t been enough for her. When she finally moved out she had called him obsessive. And, what was it? Blinkered.

When they were first together, she had joined him in the box (as she called it). She had even distracted him enough, once or twice, to make small mistakes. He had longed to be distracted again for what seemed like forever.

People at work were nice enough. They seemed to belong to a different world though. Apart from the occasional work event he didn’t really mix with them socially. They didn’t seem to notice him apart from a nod and a smile as he passed through the building. Better than nothing, he supposed.

He tended to only pet other people’s dogs out of politeness, but this one was very appealing, Michael thought. Definitely a mongrel, but he had a very engaging way of cocking his head as he looked at the sandwich. Did dogs eat tuna he wondered?

‘I’m so sorry’

‘Oh, not at all.’ Michael found himself saying, though he had given away most of his lunch by then.

It was a warm spring and they met most days after that. A few words more each time until eventually the subject of cinema came up. She was a Mike Leigh fan of course.

He wondered if Hard Truths was a bit gloomy especially for a first ‘date’, but she understood perfectly. He wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but she even said that the booth was a magical place.

Almost exactly a year later Michael had found what he had been looking for. He and Ella were married in the only cinema in the UK licensed for the purpose. No guests except Hamish the dog. Tuna sandwiches were served. Well and truly under the radar, which suited them just fine.