On our way to Trafalgar Square on New Years Eve, we stopped for a cappuccino - the cafe shone with a feverish light -every surface sparkled - mirrors reflected a hyperreal interior - everything I saw pulsed with meaning -
Two young couples sat next to us - they were speaking Italian - the girls had dark hair and bold, shapely, bodies - their boys were lean, with slim brown wrists -
Behind the counter, a man cut slivers from a cylinder of glistening meat - there were photographs of celebrities upon the walls - a platinum blonde looked over her shoulder - a young god smouldered -
We'd been let through crowd barriers to enter this world - I thought of paintings of night cafés I'd seen -
What would Hopper, or Van Gogh, make of this place, I wondered -
I could see the haunting image, even then - the strange light, the figures picked out against the darkness -
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