Cold night in Paris
I’m sitting here in this little street café, down the main road of this vivid city somewhere in the French Empire near the Helvetian and Lunarian border. As I pour myself some more wine into my glass, I look up in the night sky above my head. There is absolutely nothing to see despite the moon. The sky was empty. Outshined by all this crystalline light in and all around the city. The lux crystals stole the show from all the stars. Some of them had already their fiery grandé finale and no one saw it.
The wine in my mouth tastes fruity, a little bit dry at the end. I grab the bottle to have another glass of this red, French tastiness. Some of the wine misses the glass and rinse now down my white fur. Three frozen droplets hit the table with a smooth snick, looking like blood shimmering red in the pale crystal light.
My gaze finds its way back to the sky.
An old man told me once that no matter where you shall be on this or the other earth, it’s the same sky you look up to. Here or there.
He was wrong. This sky is completely different than the sky at home. When I am lying in the snow gazing into the night sky, there are countless stars, one brighter than the other.
My attention gets distracted by a cute poodle lady, slandering next to her Staffordshire terrier date. A cold breeze comes up, the girl has to hold her coat and hat. Like the gentleman I’m hoping he is, he gives her his jacket. She cuddled herself against his shoulder with a happy face. I catch his smile towards me and give a slight grin back as I pour the rest of this fine drop into my glass. For a moment, I nearly forgot how much I dislike cities.
The waiter witnessed it as it seems, he walks in my direction. I order another bottle and place a gold coin on the table. He takes it, then asks me about this cold night and if I’m not cold. I lay him those icy wine drops into his warm paw. He nods and leaves inside, just to appear shortly back with my ordered beverage. There are mostly empty chairs around me. I’m looking around to see unfamiliar faces. Laughing faces, loving faces and faces who drown their grief in their glass.
The time flies by, faces show up, some disappear. Like my wine.
A filigree vixen takes the chair in front of me while I stare into her deep, yellow eyes. I can see her breath in the cold. Dozens of tiny little ice crystals lay on her stuffed coat. The waiter brings her a slice of this cafés famous "tarté du citron" and a cup of earl grey tea. She gives me a little upset look as I playfully let some ice flakes of my fur dance into their death in the steam of the hot tea. The vixen continues to munch her tarté, pretending I am not there.
A man walks towards our table. The wine dulls my vision a bit, but he seems to be this Staffordshire terrier from before. A golden coin lies now in front of me, he tips his hat grinning and walks away. I can see her question, forming her cute face. As she opens her lips, I simply rise my head skywards, close my eyes and enjoy a sip of wine.