Acsh

A cigarette, a lighter, and a spark lit the twilight. The lamp swaying over their heads had stopped working long before they came, settling for a sweeping shadow instead. Beneath it, a sheet of dust saturated the table, and through the grimy glass, hungry fingers of sunlight searched desultory menus not worth a glimpse. The sun burned furiously. But it was not what anyone would name a bright day. A simple glance out the window earned only a melancholy view; tense and resigned to rip at the next sign of stress, the streets were worn and strung together by threads, the frayed edges reminiscent of a dilapidated security blanket. The restaurant a