Eve Hart had been walking for what seemed hours when she spotted the dim lights seeping to the top of the stairway leading to the underground subway system. Grateful, she followed the inviting glow, the alluring ambiance, knowing that it would help to clear her head to sit and think. The late hour didn’t matter to her. Her husband was in New York City for another day, the kids away at college. She was free to wallow in her pity.
Free. Funny expression to Eve.
Down under the streets of the D. C. neighborhood, she felt uneasiness, a fear of being alone in a dungeon at such an ungodly hour. She knew that the trains ran all night, but didn’t hear any sounds of hope. She saw a ladies room, and certain that she must look terrible, decided to freshen up. Surely, she would hear the train in time.
Inside the little room, she looked at her reflection only to confirm her thoughts, she was a mess. She applied some lip stick and played with her blonde curls before hearing the sound of chatter outside the door. Good, she thought. The train, the friendly sounds were inviting. But when she opened the door, the shock made her freeze in her steps.
She felt as if she was peeking through a window, but what she saw couldn’t be real. She braved it by stepping into the room, inside the warm confines of a coffee house. She stared, an obscure observer standing at the back of the room. It was a sight like none she’d ever experienced before. Am I dreaming? Eve slowly walked deeper into the setting and found a booth to rest her aching body.
She looked up to see plants hanging over the beams. Above them was a glass rooftop that gave an open appearance, presenting a wonderful view of bouncing raindrops. I must be dreaming. It’s so beautiful.
The place was ancient, it had a wonderful old feeling to it, and made her smile in spite of herself. There was a long counter that ran along the depth of the south wall, complete with stools like she’d seen in old movies. What did they call it, a fountain? The booth was surprisingly comfortable. Each table had an old machine sitting at its far side, a machine full of labels for music. Eve wasn’t sure what to make of that so she let her eyes continue to wander.
The inner guts of the room took on a caverness shape. The walls were made of concrete with graffiti subtly sprayed over the back portion of its chamber. There were several carved out archways opening into smaller sections of the expanse, the space giving the illusion of what Eve perceived as a cove of den-like fragments. Taking a closer look, there were exposed bricks that provided the impression of age. Or was the timeworn apparition real? At the back of the room’s cavity was a delightful wall with a large, maybe 15 foot tall painting displayed with tiny white lights that hung perfectly to give the delusion of an arch over the image. It was masterful trickery, an enchanting vision.
Next, she noticed an old tree trunk that crawled against an inner wall, as if it had tentacle arms reaching to dominate its space. The tree delighted her, it made her laugh. However, Its smell disturbed her nose slightly, the faint scent of mildew forcing her to rub her face. The dim lighting completed the old-style look, making Eve feel as though she’d gone back in time inside the restraints of its old walls. There was a magical feel, a mystical flavor to the scene.
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