The restaurant is unchanged.
The same warm thick soups, the same hearty sandwiches that were enjoyed.
The curved ceiling tracks, the faux-stone fireplace with the gas flames.
The little round 2 or 4 seat tables, the two four-seater high top tables.
The high top table.
It sits still in the front of the glass vestibule.
I still sit there.
Still write there.
Still exercise my creativity there
And remember
Back when.
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The essence of the passing of time: things that we go back to that are the same and yet are not. Enough to recognize, enough to grieve.
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