Little Bells

The patterns flow across the cafe's shiny walls, glassy to the touch... distributed regularly. It is crossed by broad, intersecting lines intertwined with twisted branches. The colors vary and converge. They are surrounded by the sober gray color of the lines, their continuity being interrupted only by the borders of the dividing squares. Its extension stops at the top of a wooden frame, the black and dark brown of its paint clashing. I treat my cup of tea with a handful of sugar. I take a sip of it... I'm sure he needs more. My hand took the initiative to take the phone out of my pocket. "Maybe a call came through, but my ears didn't pick up its ring."