Table 45 The glassy pearls clinked and pattered at the window, knocking their entrance through the small scrape. I traced the brim of the porcelain mug, quite sluggishly. The pet feline purred in satisfaction, sitting back onto her comfy mattress. The kitchen door squealed lightly welcoming the owner with an aesthetic, cute plate dressed with choco fudge muffin, topped with blue to mild purple berries. The hazy puff of the coffee distorted the view of my rose-gold rimmed spectacles. The little murmur at the counter added an unwanted whisper into the whistling of the wind. A young man about six feet tall with a covetously agile physique seemed to have some trouble with his table reservation. The little pleasing cafe was the talk of the town lately and keeping in mind the size, the present occupancy did not allow more accommodation at the present hour. The wrinkled manager approached me with a kind smile requesting a seat for the gentleman; viewing that I had occupied a dual tenancy table. "Table 45, little master!", she squealed while the man bowed to her in reverence. "May I have a seat here, please?", he asked.
