i had a dream.
i owned a cafe.
7 generations before me had owned the cafe.
hopefully 3 would after me.
we served cake from a crystal cabinet that sat outside of the dusty sunlight that came through heavily painted windows. the fans turned, moving, moving smells of teas and coffee and the occasional cough through the screened in door that braced against the sand from the desert outside.
languages were spoken. french, arabic, hebrew, yiddish, german, spanish and danish. then i heard english.
then i heard american.
then i knew that the beauty would melt into the walls from a thermal blast.
they came and drank.
they had their coffee and left a small sack behind.
i screamed, then the blast was all...
no longer were the languages ever to speak together in my cafe.
forever we heard the cries of children in the gutters while smiles wide, glittered teeth hid behind a paper that no longer holds meaning.
our fat burned in the shreds of our clothes.
the crowd cheered. they pushed buttons on a screen.
we believed them.
