Arabesque music played. The art and the photography on the café walls was illuminated by lights as yellow as New York taxi’s. The vermillion-red coffee cup in front of me held a cappuccino, it was ever so ornate in Italian appearance. The ivory-white table reflected vermillion, like droplets of cherry juice stained against the whitest Oriental sheets. The aroma, distinct, led my senses to dream of a Paris café, illustrated with French fonts and art deco ornaments. The ambience flowed like silk chiffon. I sat in the corner of the café, surrounded by people, it was like a Monday morning in Manhattan, only there were no salmon lox with bagels and cream cheese. Cappuccinos, flat whites, mocha’s, long blacks and soy latte’s intoxicated the air. So sweet, yet so bitter too.
To my left sat a lady, she wore a headscarf that looked like a Melodia Gitana Casol, and in her French accent she spoke whilst her rather overt, ridiculously huge Dolce Gabbana sunglasses peered below her eyes. Her chocolate brown hair was preened immaculately, it was like ruffled velvet towards the tips of her fringe. The contrast between her strawberry-red lips and the expensive white pearls that she wore adorned on her neck reminded me of Audrey Hepburn, only the image wasn’t in black and white.
An illustrious aura poured from her personality like expensive French champagne and when she spoke her audience of friends listened attentively. It seemed to entail considerable social risks if they didn’t listen. She would pause, and they would awe with feelings of reverential respect. She would then hold her coffee cup, like a deadly spider held a dying fly. The diamonds she wore chocked her fingers with such respectable glamour, so much so that the table turned into a cascade of sparkles every time she glanced for another sip of coffee.
DAKOTAH ®
