Voices on the Wind Evening Voices
Panache by David Francis Day after day in the restaurant he sighs loudly after taking a sip of espresso. Street people come in and swipe the hardboiled eggs. A late afternoon glare reflects in the wood chairs, dark marble tabletops, contrasts with the vertical tube lights behind the bar. A woman soft-shoes in, smiling: “I have a reservation.” In a few moments, a woman in a hat joins her. ……. The waitress I knew has gone back to her homeland. A photograph of a couple’s fleeting good time that another waitress took who also is gone. “Bon soir,” another waitress arrives, dressed in black. ……. Pedestrians pass the French doors briefly; taxis like squeezed mustard. An old radio recording of a chansonnier chirps. The waitress sits on the mauve barstool and smokes. Her initial task is the lighting of the candles in the glasses so that night falls and the small white candles blaze. In a mutual understanding: “Everything OK?” she asks.