Happy Hour

The polished wood, lights and music make it feel warmer in here that it deserves to be. Sat facing the street, watching people struggle with strollers and groceries against the wind and weather. Inside all I can wonder is whether to order another, or make my way home.

The man at the next table speaks into his phone, “Yes, the trains have not yet left the station.” An accent of some kind almost imperceptible. German?

At the bar someone asks loudly who the couple of the year is, but he may only be referring to his social circle, I think.

2 thoughts on “Happy Hour

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