Shadows slip through the slit of the present, as patrons glimpse into forgotten nights of a cosmos unraveled. Soft murmurs echo in ageless walls, recounting tales that time decided to abscond with. An elderly man sits by the eastern window, perennial watchman of astral tides. 1
The coffee is dark as the abyss itself, poured into fractured cups that recollect lives tethered to mysteries, whispering to those who dare lend an ear. 2
In a corner, a moth thrums against the blinking light, shrouded by the crimson of a dim star. Patron C.E. recalls the dance of dying worlds, the celestial promenade of icy bodies through voided space. Memories like intangible threads reach toward star-laden dusk. 3
Like dust upon forgotten tomes, we erase ourselves into yesterday. Veritas linger, vanishing swiftly into monochrome twilight, social incantations dangling like autumn leaves cruelly stripped and surrendered. 4
1. From: "Celestial Sentinels in Forgotten Cafés" 2. Excerpted from: "The Etiquette of Shadow Dining" 3. Adaptation of: "Tides of Earthen Years Among the Stars" 4. Annotations from: "Phantasmal Soliloquies Uplifted"