It was a scorching hot day. A delicately seducing breeze left the space yearning for more.

More coolness, more clarity, more faith.

I gently sink into the high chair at the terrace of the cafe, thriftily sipping on my tangy lemonade in the spot away from everyone; I the audience, they the stage.

My dusty foot in a slipper up on the other seat, where lay my aged suede handbag;

My slouching back;

Tattered jeans;

Utterly ruffled unruly brown curls with tints the shade of honey;

eccentric glasses;

dry lips …

I watch the families having late Sunday lunch. The women in their:

Custom fitted dresses;

Matching hats;

Ironed hair;

Glamorous shoes;

Glossy lipstick;

A ring.

I acknowledge that I would never be as neatly ordered and precise in attire or manner or life.

The seducing breeze broke my reverie, reminding me of its subtle presence (of seemingly little importance).

In the background played a song, which like the subtle breeze, sang to me, “somewhere only we know.”

Among the cluttered families on the wide tables, and amid the chuckles of their three year olds, were the alone on the high chairs.

A grizzly white lady took a deep puff of her cigarette, firmly clutched onto it then lifelessly exhaled. That subtle breeze cast the fumes on me like a shared secret. I involuntarily inhaled as though I was supposed to.

My view turned mirky; I sighed, and after, for some mysterious reason, smiled. Simultaneously, my eyes watered. A weary tear dropped down my left cheek, my nose turned rosy, my lips gently clasped back together, I swallowed hard, my leg dropped down; I swung my bag onto my right shoulder, placed the payment under the glass with a tip, and inconspicuously left.