A Café I’d Like to Visit (Prose)

Green, the flavor of cucumber and airy botanic gardens, cloaked the short walkway. The café’s front was shy and unassuming; you might miss it unless you knew it was there. Taking the entrance’s few winding steps from the street gave visitors the overwhelming impression they had entered a jungle or fantasy. The foliage, much of it tall and exotic-looking, muted the sound of road traffic. It wasn’t overgrown, just overly friendly – like interacting with someone of a cultural heritage that doesn’t adhere to the same constructs of personal space.

Rich brown stone slabs served as steps through unrestrained garden dirt. The garden was defined by brick walls, but one caught only glimpses of their solidity through the leaves and aliveness of the garden. A small, wooden sign, standing only two feet from the ground, puffed its chest proudly as one neared the door. It announced the specials of the day in innocent, handwritten chalk; its weathered cream color providing a gentle contrast with the ground and the greenery surrounding it. The café door was a hazy blue, with a bronze knob and a large window inviting in the light.


This is fun but I have to go do other things now.


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