Tuesday, March 22

 
The Cafe

She sits along the window, idly sipping her coffee with the occasional nod and smile to her friend facing her. Her elbows perched and legs crossed, her eyes squint as she looks out across the road, the sunlight shining intensely.

She’s attractive. A pale green flannel sweater and snug blue jeans rests on her slender built. Brown locks that roll down her shoulders are tossed unconsciously behind her head, revealing a face that looks almost angelic, even without make-up.

Her laughter is infectious, like a singing lark. Every minute or two her friend would tell a little joke, and, as if to share the joke with everyone, she bursts out in peals of laughter. You could almost feel her joy and good spirits, like a tangible emotion.

Keep still and concentrate. You would be able to smell the aroma of her coffee, wafting into your nose, teasing you with its faint but distinguishable scent. Or could it be her perfume?

A cold breeze brings a cacophony of sounds. Little bells start chiming. The fragrant dried flowers rustle their thirsty leaves. She pulls up her chair and sits closer to the table. Her friend indicates the time, and almost instinctively, both realise they’re running late. With a loud jarring noise and frantic apologies, they pay for their meal and leave.

I’ll definitely return to the café.


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