Four Cafes

A soft rain rippled across the apartment window distorting the rainbow of lights emanating from the Four Cafes. That’s what the locals call them, The Four Café’s. Each had a flavor all their own as do the street musicians offering their insight into another’s recipe. January cold limited the number of street walkers, saturated the aroma of croissants with an urgency. Perhaps the scent of snow on the air had stifled the urge to choose a café. Better to pass by splashing in the colored puddles and settle in for the night. Still, I stood at my window hypnotized. Drawn into the flow of the jousting neon lights defending their colors, brightly slashing at one another. The snow had come, the jousts over, the lights extinguished. Sunrise chased an echo through the streets as Café bell chimes welcomed the baker. A soft light played on the snow. The frantic rainbow would follow later. ©3/7/2023 157 words