Perched at the bar of Cigar, the bartenders are in a flurry, a typical Saturday night. For a moment, I wondered, have they overlooked us? The waitress arrives, bearing our drinks. A fellow patron glances at our friend, curiosity piqued by her sash. "What does it say, your sash?" He inquires. "RIP 20s," she responds. A burst of laughter escapes him as he wishes her a happy birthday. Now, the countdown to salsa begins. These private events need to hasten their pace. After all, we have dancing to do.
17/3/2024 @ 4:09 First Iteration