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The café on the corner has walls the color of the inside of a lime. Up top the far wall in big bold letters a definition is written in cursive font, underlined with coloured canvases. It reads “A central town square or plaza, a gathering place”, but this meaning can be read from more then just the walls. Between the cracks in the old wood floorboards it’s in misplaced lyrics leftover from the nights live music had more power then the caffeine. On the antique green couch by fire it sits as Saturdays spent playing games, laughing with hands wrapped around warm white ceramic. In the little nook by the counter, amongst the pillows on the purple bench seats it hides as afternoon escaping the cold, surround by coats and bags of shopping carelessly dropped in mounded piles. By the tall backed leather armchairs in the corner it’s there in hours spent list making on scraps of paper, planning futures, analyzing yesterdays, and loving moments. It’s a gathering place. DSC03597

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~ by loosethreadsandwritersblock on September 21, 2009.

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