Horn rimmed glasses walk in with a jingle of the bell at the door. They scan the room taking in the layered lights and the tiered tables. Jazz floats around the room.
The glasses fall on a small hand poking out of the shadows tracing the rim of a glass. They stride out to that dark corner of the room.
"It's been a long time," they say, ducking into the shadows.
"I know why you're here," the small hand says. It has stopped circling the rim of the glass.
A smile glimmers under the horn rimmed glasses. "So tell me what happened to them in the end," they say.
Red lips appear above the hand, smoke curling around their grin. "They all lived happily, loved sadly, then died suddenly. The end."
The horn rimmed glasses flash as they turn to the light. One could almost make out a tear forming beneath the lens.
"You told me otherwise," they hiss. "You told me they would be together. They were on the brink of it you see. You told it wrong."
The hand says nothing. The lips have retreated into the shadows.
A trumpet blares jazz over the speaker. It crackles loudly.
The hand resumes its tracing of the glass rim. "It did not turn out as I thought it would," the hand says, "in fact, it turned out the opposite. They're dead. The end."
"But how? How? Their love was life itself," the glasses plead, eyes peering over their rims questioningly.
The hand waves dismissively. "That's how all love ends. Don't you know that? It consumes you till death do you part."
The glasses stand up abruptly then they march out of the restaurant, shoes clicking in a light staccato.
The hand pushes her glass away. She leans her face into the light, exposing a messy head of blond curls. She sighs. "We were on the brink of something, you know. The love they had could have been ours."