Eventually the sky lost all hints of sunlight and the sidewalk tables
emptied one by one, allowing me to rest for a moment as my single remaining
table full of Spaniards engaged itself in an animated conversation, arms
flailing and gesticulating wildly, beer sitting sweating and getting warm.
I looked across the street to the Cafe Italia, with the “I” in “Italia”
blinking on and off as the neon tube went bad, when I caught a glimpse of a
new waitress standing wearily behind the counter slowly counting her tips,
the neon reflected in the display cases of the cafe.