A table wrapped in white cloth, hiding the antique old wooden wood beneath it that sits there with stains and knick knocks, It is furnished with red wine and green flowers, it is sprayed with jasmine water scent, and Brooklyn flavours, it has been stuffed with white plates and crystal glasses, butter knifes, and fresh-baked bread, the smell of the ovens bakery is so aromatically floating in the air, as each chair has a character of its own, ready to be seated by a man of his own vanities and flares, women in their shawls and tight skirts, life is like a shadow that moves in complete mystery and waste to what not no one knows, and what one thinks knows it all, blueberries and blackberries, mint leaves, and pearls, all enter the side room, as people begin to explain, their heart breaks and their flowers, that have been their mending to their love makings, the Irish, and the Danish, the Arabs, and the Germans, they all are greeted by lemons, and olives, greens and brows, hours of cheap talks, and hours of fake laughter, people continue to move into rooms, where cakes are served in butter, toasted in chocolate, and almond bites, the sugar is too sweet, the tea is too heavy, the party has only started it is three am, Breakfast is being baked, beds are unmend, helpless people toss themselves in jars, fight for a cookie with white pieces, over dark pieces so stained, fresh strawberries over left over cake, tickets to watch the next show have been sold out, and the people are only rushing outside their doors to make it in shapeless forms and fearful faces, they quickly but quietly brush their hairs and plug their eyebrows, they squeeze what is left over from their lip stick onto their lips, they tie their ties up tight into what they think is scheme, their shoe laces are left untied, but the clock is ticking, there is no time to look back, empty chairs, the sun is here, the people are gone, the house is clean, the paintings are hanging, the flowers continue living, and we sit and wait for the next round to… all over again…

Creative Writing on a Tuesday Morning Inspired by My Collection of Instagram’s favorite Pieces collected from 2015, The Dinner Club 57, _FoodStories_, Margaret__Zhang, Sunday Suppers, Food 51, Trotter Mag, Make My Lemonade, Food 52, Food 53, What For Breakfast