The dinner din of a hip open-air restaurant mixes with the judging whispers of the serving staff,
The smell of arid red wine filtering through the winter window pain air,
One tanned-over brick accents the grey spackled background walls,
The gold plated ceiling tantalizing our peripherals,
The light beech wood floors subvert our attention from the painted dark oak chairs
Portions of food designed to satisfy, not over stuff, guests
Glide out with mysterious but pleasing quickness.
Not too full but an obviously profitable night with diners and servers leaving, with full stomachs or pockets
But not both,
Each believing they got the better deal
