July 20 2007

Text By Greg Fallis

Let's linger a little longer, here in this still dovecote of a coffee shop. Let's draw out the afternoon over another lazy latte. Let's sit here, snail-slow and satisfed, icons of contentment. This is our afternoon.

It's cool here, and quiet except for the cough of the air conditioner. Outside on the sidewalk, pink-skinned shoppers pass by. We watch them warily as we chat, willing them to keep walking and leave us alone in our unhurried hideout. This is our afternoon.

The flowers are hothouse frauds, fragrance-free. The table is topped with cheapjack plastic. But we are here alone, cloistered in this coffee shop, as content with the accoutrements as if we were ensconced in lilacs and lace. This is our afternoon and our afternoon and our afternoon and will stay so until some disagreeable stranger strolls through the door.