In a southern Spanish bar, Colin’s view is rosé tinted. And now, when Juan arrives, he dances, spins and stamps as people stare.
“I still haven’t….” The object of his heart’s desire swam mistily into view. “Found you” he said, focussed on the barman’s hand.
The neon sizzle from the bar last night is still behind D’s eyes. She has not slept enough; she smiles as she remembers why. The bells through the open window tell her it is Sunday, ten o’clock. She turns over and there is T again. His mouth tastes of coffee.