Birthday on Market Street

Cafe

It is his birthday.

It was just a little cafe.

The windows stained with condensation
and panes rusted with copper and age.
We sat in crooked wooden chairs and
watched a man mumble to himself and
another wipe his nose against the sleeve
of his Disney themed sweatshirt.

Quite a paradox seeing such a hardened
man adorned with childhood characters.

There were no balloons, no streamers –
no cakes filled with strawberries and
drizzled with pomegranate icing.

There was just a little cafe.

There was only us.

And it was his birthday.

-Samantha Prasad

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