The room is silent, few people trickling in to dine late and others leaving.
The light glimmers over the tiled floor, softened and giving a quiet glow to the room. I can’t tell what time of day it is – the lights are bright enough that I’d be tricked into thinking it day, if I didn’t know it was evening. There are few windows and the entire evening has taken on a dream-like quality.
It’s almost the perfect evening; in soft focus and so quiet, you almost wouldn’t remember it, or if you did you might think it was a dream.
Minutes spill into hours as we dine, various plates and courses brought through as required, and conversation doesn’t seem to be a requirement. Sight and taste seem to be the only senses employed – it’s as though people here have some distaste for talking, some disinclination to break the trance that hangs over us all before we leave.
Closing time, and people stream through the doors into the cold of the night. The cold is a jolt to the system, a quick sharp wake-up call that beckons to cars and sodden pavements.
My flimsy high heels are useless against the rain and the water soaks through immediately, you hurry to bring the car around and drag a pair of closed-in shoes from the backseat.
We sit quietly as you drive, rain pattering on the roof of the car. Streetlights throw reflections into the water on the ground, painting the streets soft hazy gold and lighting the raindrops as they fall. Miles ahead of us, the city doesn’t look quite real, it looks like some kind of fairyland. The skies are dark, lit with the occasional streetlight halo, and the streets disappear behind us, appearing in front of us.
It’s rhythmic, hypnotic and I can feel myself being lulled to sleep as we drive.
(dawn breaks over the distant horizon, but that’s okay, because this can happen again tomorrow)