The Café of Impossibilities
It’s down an alley between the shops, around a corner that isn’t always there. You push open the low door and a soothing murmur of conversation greets you. The coffee is frankly mediocre, but Amelia looks great at – what was it? – thirty-eight to your careworn fifty-five. Amelia who always knew the importance of trivialities, who cheered each tiny triumph. In a quiet corner your dad forgets to drink his tea; your fingers itch to stroke the old cat’s fur. But too soon you’re out in the crowded street and that isn’t really the back of Amelia’s head disappearing from view.
M J Lewis ©2015
Here is my contribution to Friday Fiction, presided over as ever by the amazing Rochelle. The sweet-peas are blooming out in the garden, or tennis is on the telly if you prefer to stay inside behind gently wafting curtains. It is indeed a lovely British summer. Thanks for visiting wherever you are. (And to whomsoever stopped by from Mongolia only this week, multiple thanks.)
Thanks also to Stephen Baum for this week’s photo.