The DJ took a final
look at the silhouettes of the empty bottles on the tables and the dim lit
floor of the Café before he stepped out. It was silence again after he left in
his small old Fiat Panda, the sound of its engine dying slowly with the
distance.
A January night returning
to retrieve something on a sudden realization. It was that chilly. Occasional winds blew erratically fluttering
the dark green spring foliage and the drapes over open windows. Wispy lights across the Po struggled through a
seemingly hesitant fog.
A rabbit hopped
across, pausing momentarily and disappeared in a flash. Mallards called out softly
once in a while, breaking the silence.
Chill had seeped into
metal of the chairs outside the café. Feeble sound waves from afar, maybe one
of those clubs in Valentino Park, infrequently made themselves heard.
A quiet cold spring
night.
