From If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, by Jon McGregor:

We went out for breakfast this morning.
Michael said he owed me.
We went to a place with plastic gingham tablecoths, and big red and yellow containers of squirtable ketchup and mustard on the counter.
The door jangled when we went in, and the woman in a dirty white apron said in a minute love and went into the kitchen.
The radio was playing a rap song, the singer going my name is my name is, over and over again, as if he’d forgotten.