That tapestry, Red, Black, Gold A Celtic Circle-- silently bearing witness to the proceedings of that smoky room:
The aquariums--one with the large eel who seemed to barely fit the tank that took up half the wall; and the smaller, vibrantly colored fish in the aquarium with the eggshell colored coral.
The remixed music played at a comfortable volume, by the DJ we knew so well, together; as many times it hardly seemed like he was working at all, as he just sat down and talked to us, for hours.
Looking through those over-sized books of old advertisements, and explanations of historical artwork; discussing the contents with strangers, who became friends in the process.
Smoke billowed, enveloping the atmosphere and filling it with the smell of many spice racks, pleasantly rolled in a shell of a soft breeze flowing from the oscillating fan.
The smell of joy, of a relaxed sense of mutual understanding; that it was okay not to say a word, because the atmosphere did the talking for us.
We just enjoyed sitting on those red pleather couches that your **** sank back into, not allowing my feet to touch the floor; so they often just dangled, legs swinging to the tempo of the music.
As I took a hit of the hookah, I manipulated the smoke into O's, puckering my lips, trying not to laugh as you gazed at me in a shy sense of wonder.