THE BEGINNING OF THE END

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

 

Sitting alone at the corner of the bar, tickling the stem of a globular red wine glass with an index digit, contemplating complexities, gazing out across the nearly empty restaurant, through the expanse of plate glass windows, infinite pin oak leaves, adorned with their arrays of auburn, amber and magenta, fluttered and skittered slowly and quietly along a diagonal breeze, in a warm, misting, silver grey atmosphere – the last day of October.