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  • In here, their hands are wet with ricotta salata and the juice of green zebras and purple cherokees. Their breath is full of violet wine, pomegranate yogurt, and a spicy Romesco spread which she thinks came out too spicy and I think came out just right. There's an accordion player named Rob in the other room. It's his third gig of the night but you'd never know it. He is expanding and contracting the room with each note. We all feel it. Outside, it's starting to rain, and the windows are steaming up and are now speckled with the face prints of people who peak into the windows of restaurants at night. In the other room there's a stunning woman with a taste for smokey essential oils and a small dog called Ruby who sits on her lap, poised not quivering. In the other room, there's a woman in a hot pink dress, wobbly heels, and a contagious laugh. There's a man with a voice hoarse from cheering at the Giant's baseball game, the one where they were one game away from the penant. There are people leaning over their tables, faces all warm from wine and candlelight, trying to make sense out of each other and themselves. In the other room there is a Pee-Wee Herman doll awkwardly propped up next to the three-tiered cupcake display. The doll was a birthday present from the woman with the dog. The cupcakes were filled with rose and pistachios. In here, in between cleaning the vegetable pigment smeared dishes, crumbling cheeses between fingers, and brushing freshly baked Focaccia with olive oil, they pass each other and whisper.




    Music: Valse a Bambula by Gaucho
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