Varnish

The dark corners of the room spoke of decades past,

your heels clacked on the floor, dim candles lit the

dark as we sat in the well worn wood. Conversation

melted the hands of the clock as drinks flowed in

our veins. The voices of the room fell into a low

level hum barely perceptible to our ears. In time

the ice melted in our glasses, that too, we drank.

The time came when the carriage would become

a pumpkin, we stepped out from that static age

and into the rushing tides of the city streets.