254/365 I Lived in Mirrors That Summer
She considers his words then adds her own. She looks down, then up, a bit perturbed that he doesn’t listen. Or maybe he does, but doesn’t respond. He lifts his locally brewed Osiris Pale Ale and drinks, half turning from her. A sign he won’t respond.
I sit with my back to them and watch the drama through the glass window, their ghostly appearance a testament to their relationship.
That summer I spent many late afternoons and early evenings in MacNiven’s on Mass Ave. As I’ve said before, they have a beer menu that runs into tomorrow, and windows and mirrors that disorient even before the first frothy gulp. I lived in mirrors that summer.