She knocked on the weathered iron table as if it was a door. I looked up, narrowed my eyes, as if the action was equivalent to peering a single one though a peephole.
Above my cup, and below a whirling fan, that turned as if abating the heat of a spring that was still not in full bloom she stood, as I arose to what was like a brown mermaid. She had skin like an acai berry with cinnamon undertones. Her woven locks of hair, fell to one side, her right.
She had skin like an acai berry with cinnamon undertones. Her woven locks of hair were placed to one side, her right, which is also the same side of the brain that’s the cause for where two dominant details of how our worlds interlocked are processed: recognizing faces and processing music.
Aviva Jaye is her name and she is a musician. Its a link that’s threaded many of our encounters and this day is no different. She cane from a music event, before walking into this cafe and recognizing me as my crossed legs syncopated to the rhythm of ‘Duke’s Place’ by Louis Armstrong.
Instead, in these moments, it was now our place. | She drinks a cappuccino.
Coffee Shop: Cafè Martin
Location: Park Slope, Brooklyn