Last weekend, I was a musician. I went for the rehearsal of one of my choirs on Saturday morning and for the actual concert on Sunday.
She waited at the coffee shop. The shadows lengthened and the new March leaves caught the evening light. Music played unnecessarily loudly in the background. Mean music with no great depth. But those were the kind of people she saw around her. A thin and short young man leaned behind his girlfriend as their friends took pictures with their mobile cameras. On another table, a large man with fluffy hair idled with the whipped cream on his frappe as he talked to his companion behind the wall. The wooden chairs partially reflected the light. The red cube lights near the counter were on. The walls were lined partially with wooden panels of a grayish brown colour.