The Authentic Eclectic

The Curious Sugar Bowl

He watched the foggy blossoms of cream slowly ingratiating themselves with the steaming black coffee. Outside, the lamps flickered to life. It was a beautiful night.

Source: https://www.wikiart.org/en/pierre-auguste-renoir/still-life-with-orange-and-sugar-bowl — fair use

He rested in one of those blissful moments of tranquility that must needs be perfectly accentuated with hints of mystery or art to exist. He floated in a Première Gymnopédie sort of cloud in this lonely cafe that breathed a dozen soft noises blending into the silence so that they both retained and lost their essential essences.

He did not stir his coffee. If possible, he would have kept the liquids permanently suspended in varying levels of union and purity. He brought the mug to his lips, savoring the hush of steam that gleamed white in the low light. He noticed and did not notice the young man who owned the coffee shop wiping down a table, marking the exit of the only other customers.

A stained glass lamp of amber, cerulean, peach, and emerald rested on the table. He flicked the hanging golden chain to watch it swing. A gust of wind brought the trees outside to his attention. Perfect, perfect, perfect, he thought, noting the liquid warmth traveling through his body.

The road was cold, and it was long to the next resting place. The owner reemerged from the back in a clean blue apron, carrying the…