The seating of cafe patrons saw minds

measuring space.

More exact with the inexact, as to

encompass something of mind.

A fine drizzle g spotted greenery

outside, as beaping horns coincided with

the draggy swash of an espresso

machine.

Producing the skidding sound of

tractionless tires, which momentarily

made one scan the street for a collision.

The circular logic of round tables were

inescapably bright.

Cropping up in the middle of

conversations after closing time.

Thus completing the orbits of business

hours, with missed crumbs more

profound than takeaways.