Hot diggety dog

I stand in the hot dog shop, another long term goal achieved. 3 months I have been considering trying a Rollover dog. Today I decided to walk in. It was ok, not too pricey, but not too filling either. I eat my hotdog on a bench by the window. Outside there is an Indian mother and her daughter. The mother is of big build, solid, but not noticeably overweight, the girl is small, gangly, perhaps 12 years old. They sit with two cans of fizzy drink, unopened on the small table in front of them, not speaking. The girl is looking around her, fidgeting, wringing her hands with a preoccupied nature. She gets up, comes inside and loiters near the till. Standing there, leaning back and forth from the counter, I watch her. What has brought her here. Is her mother sick? Is she sick? Awaiting an appointment? Has her mother tried to cheer her up with her favourite food? Or has this been long promised as a treat for her good behaviour. Perhaps neither of them are the patients. It may be her grandmother, or father, or sister. Will this be one of those memories that stay with her forever. Will she always associate the sight of the unopened drinks and the smell of ketchup with her small world falling around her in huge lumps?