Four Cafes

Riotous revellers' laughter drifts up from their apricot lit late night haunts, four cafes are notoriously avoided venues for overindulgent consumption of alcohol. Across the street, from my thirtieth floor apartment window, remote portrait of bodies bent enthralled over their beers, toads on stools at mushroom stem tables. Flicker of forbidden recognition crosses my cortex, - I'm a resident of Broadwater Tower now. Unstated policy prohibits proximity with riff raff. Our bar ensures we wear careful attire, floor gleams mirror marble. Chrome and cracked leather oud absorbs expensive scents. Ladies laughter upscale conflicts the low fading mens' vocal. Tipsy sensation enhanced by deck docked rolling prestigious flagpole chiming yachts. Over the road, neolithic neon signs post grotesque cafe names, Salivate, Green Grotto among them. Customers come from squat squashed suburbs, five minute drive away. Dive bar dark sparks alcoholic amphibians unremarkable bravado. January holiday season sees sardines huddled heartily under awnings, abandoning next morning necessity. 24th February 2023 151 words Written for Contest: Four Cafes Sponsor: Julia Ward