It was called Carrie but I suspect the name is taken

The street was filled up with sand, right up to the tops of the buildings. She could see their upper floors and roofs jutting out of the dunes. A giant sand timer floated above the street while its last few grains of sand poured out onto the pile below.
The next moment the street was empty again; empty of sand but full of cars and people. The street was full of shops and shouting and also full of the memory of sand, which rose invisibly up to the tops of the buildings.
Carrie stood by a large window which looked out onto the street from an upstairs room. On the bar beside her lay a half full packet of cigarettes and a lighter. She walked quickly as she made her way past the barman who tried to catch her eye, past an older man who was sitting on his own and down a stairway which twisted to a door on street level. She clutched her purse close to her as she hurried through the doorway. Turning right, Carrie walked along the street to a table which stood on the pavement outside a café, a few yards down the road. She slowed as she approached, and finding a chair in the sunlight, she sat down, placing her bag on an empty chair beside her.
A waitress stepped out from the doorway and silently placed a menu in front of her, before disappearing again back into the building. She emerged a moment later and stood at Carrie’s table. Brushing her hair behind her ear with one hand, the waitress clicked the end of her pen with the other.
“What do you want?”
Carrie wondered whether she had spoken, or the waitress. She sat still, waiting for a clue. She sat looking at the waitress, who stood motionless, eyes fixed on her note pad.
“I’d like a cigarette please,” said Carrie.
The waitress stood still for a moment. There was a slight movement in the muscles of her face. The skin on her forehead bunched above the nose, her lips pushed together a little and her eyes flicked upwards almost imperceptibly. The waitress stuffed a hand into a pocket. She pulled out a cigarette box with two cigarettes in it and offered them to Carrie. Reaching out a hand, Carrie took one from the box. As soon as her slender fingers grasped it, the waitress snapped the box back. She pulled the remaining cigarette out and flicked it between her lips. Screwing the empty box up in her hand she tossed it casually onto the table. The waitress reached back inside her pocket and produced a lighter. Carrie leaned forward with her cigarette. The waitress held out the flame and Carrie took a deep drag. Lowering her hand she sat back and slowly blew out smoke. The waitress lit her own, pulled a chair across the pavement to the table and sat down with her legs crossed.
“What time is it? She asked.
Carrie looked at her watch.
“Five past ten,” she replied.
A red bus blew its own smoke back at them from nearby on the road.
“Are you on your own? She continued.
The waitress smiled into her cigarette and removed it from her lips. She exhaled a breath, with a sigh, and flicked the ash into a plastic ash tray on the table.
“For the moment,” she said. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I’m new. This is all new,” Carrie replied, waving her arms at the world around her. I live around the corner at Johnston Park.”
“In one of the new flats?”
“No. I have a basement flat in one of the houses opposite.”
“I’m thinking of moving,” the waitress stated, nodding her head and leaning back in her chair. “I’ve been in my place far too long; a year and a half at least.”
A light breeze rustled the pages of a newspaper nearby.
“You can come and look at my place if you want,” Carrie offered.
The waitress put her cigarette up to her mouth and took a long drag.
“Wait here,” she said.
Disappearing through the doorway of the café again, she left Carrie to her cigarette. She couldn’t see anything through the door, beyond a corridor leading back into the building. She sat and watched as the cars drove steadily on. A dog on a lead passed her with a young man straining to hold it back. An old lady shuffled slowly past on the other side of the road. Carrie looked at her watch again. She picked up a newspaper that was lying on a table next to hers. Barely glancing at the headline she threw it down again and sat staring at the street across the road. She heard the door open as the waitress stepped outside again. Standing up, Carrie reached for her bag.
“Let’s go,” she said.