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.