lily noir café
The window pane tinted sepia still let some lights from outside in. Flashes of white and red – the lights of the night, cars, they pulsated in blurred entrancing motion. You could hear it, that outside world, but as if whatever happened behind the window happened abroad. In moments between car and car, flash and flash, there was a glint on the table surfaces, yellow comfort, and the occasional spark from a cornered Christmas tree. The air breathed comfort, isolation. Warm milk and coffee on the tables and the bar. Hot splatters of chocolate on the customers’ skirts and on a leftover apron under the drinks station. Mahogany-coloured bread crumbs on a forgotten plate. A whizz from the AC brushed them to the floor – a carpet as fluffy as a freshly shampooed cow. A cute machine smothered it every three hours. An ambulance stopped on the street ahead, striking ruby light into the room and contouring their shadows. His hand rested on her hat. He left his other hand open, he seemed to be
