The tacky tiles ache for an identity.
The upholstery screams for comfort.
The neon sign above the entrance flickers for friendship.
The waiters' smiles quiver from claustrophobia.
The upturned glasses on the cold white tables beg to be toasted.
This is so not the breakfast of champions.


Popular posts from this blog

Dravid's recall: a knee-jerk reaction

Oakville - our field of dreams