Have a great weekend everyone and I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.
As they approached the Day Night Cafe, Onnie couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide and smiling. The normally bustling cafe with its french style doors, never closed long, for someone was always going in or out, was completely different. The trees that lined the cobble sidewalk were draped in white twinkle lights to match the crisp white linens that now covered the heavy iron tables. Three delicate red roses in a crystal vase topped each table and were flanked by two small candles. The soft lilting of a violin flowed out of the two propped open front doors and past the maitre d in a deep black suit.
Prompt: Write about an object that has symbolic importance. Do not say what the object is, just describe the object.
All three of them were lined up on the shelf, not a spec of dust upon them. Their ink in varied states of age. One crisp and clear, looking as if it had printed just the day before. The second faded and its lettering just visible, helped along by the foreknowledge of what used to be there. The third was somewhere in between, just teetering on the edge of well loved and artifact status. One is wrapped in a matte sleeve, the other two have long since been lost. The fabric that pulls the yellowing pages together is dry and cracked, fraying in places, and makes a delightful creaking noise when delicately opened. The texture rough against your fingers, that is unless carefully placed in the exact correct spot, long ago worried soft.
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