the sound of voices chatting about the
normal and mundane. The old women sit
at their table against the window pane,
holding hands briefly in prayer. Their gray
hair radiates against the sunlight, the green
grass just beyond the glass bends gently as
people walk by. Spanish speaking voices
tinged with English emanate forth from the
tongues of servers making their rounds. Dishes
free of red meat are scattered about tables
in observation of ancient rituals. Plates are
set on the table as the world draws away
from me so temporarily.
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