Weekends are for Lovers

by L. Bernhardt, Resident Loon, from Flickr Creative CommonsYou know that elbow Room? That place where you can go and lean against the wall and feel your chest cave completely against your backbone in utter perfect relief? You know that place?

That place, where the tables are always half-full and yet no one ever seems to bother the one chair you love, the one you’ve carved yourself into? You know the place, where home reaches the pinnacle of meaning, sings into the corners, and orders a usual?

It’s that place, where the bartender/barista doesn’t just know your drink, but knows the curve of your back (that one night) and switches the music whenever he sees you. He knows what you like, and you are sure, when his fingers press into the remote, that it’s the next-perfect-act of tenderness?

You know that place– soft walls and driving bass line. Familiar faces, but none too friendly. In a corner you collapse. If you were a phone, you’d plug into that socket.

But since you are not. You lower onto the hard cafe chair. Rest forearms on the table top. Shutdown the songbird device. Slide into perfect A minor.

The time for love is calling.

  2 comments for “Weekends are for Lovers

  1. karen
    October 10, 2010 at 4:43 am

    We have a little deli…in a spot that I’ve known for decades…it was a bakery when I was a kid…we’ve seen it change hands many times and really want this family to succeed there.

    We went almost daily through much of the end of the summer. Now Jay and I sometimes go between Michael’s school and his…quite the time gap…we order an egg and cheese on whole wheat and split it…until recently I ordered coffeee…just cut it out again.

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