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Tales
01
Apricot
We asked if we could drink wine. The handsome man obliged. He gave us five glasses and a bottle of wine with sediment sitting at the bottom. We walked across the pale pink room, and climbed out of the window, past walls with golden medallions, past sunflowers, past single, tall candles, past splintered wood. The girls cascaded out like a small parade, the window framing their backs like a painting.
Our dining table was a brown and orange striped rug hugging the canal. The sun had just decided it wanted to begin setting. Men in boats, dogs on leashes, babies in baskets.
When I walked inside to pay the bill I noticed a bowl of yellow circles. “What are those?” I asked the man. “Apricots!” he said, turning away from a flaming saute pan. He approached the counter, moving his calloused hands through the bowl. He picked two apricots speckled orange and red. Washing them, he placed them in my palms.
“For you.”
I grinned as the nectar dribbled down my chin, thanking the man kindly with my eyes, pieces of pulp between my left most teeth.