In
the endless twilight that enveloped the restaurant, no customers ever came. Instead, my friend Marietta, the hostess,
usually sat at one of the perfectly-made tables by herself, doing paperwork of
a kind we never discussed. Only the fading
light that rippled through those whispering trees dared enter the large
T-shaped room. Why were there no
customers? On my previous visits I’d
just seen Marietta in that hushed hour of solitude. Like so many other questions I must have
forgotten to ask her this one, too.
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