This week’s photo prompt is provided by Footy and Foodie. Thank you Footy and Foodie!
The flourescent tube hummed and flickered, the noise settling in his ear like a trapped wasp. He thought of mentioning it to the waitress, but her shoes were collapsed at the heel, greasy hair lank about her forehead and shoulders – he doubted she’d care about a faulty light bulb.
Last time he stopped here – eight, ten years ago? – Rosie had run the place. Rust haired Rosie with the easy smile. Once visit she’d poured him coffee, her hand brushing his, skin soft as breath. ‘Sorry, hon,’ she’d whispered, clasping his shoulder in apology. Some nights sleeping in the cab, hail pelting the roof, windows lacy with ice, that memory still warmed him.
It was dawn over the docks, sun breaking the cloud, flashing on freighters, shipping containers, each transformed to solid gold for a fraction of a second.
Beauty. In this place. Another memory to keep him warm.
He left a five pound tip and headed for the lorry park.