The Restaurant

When I enter, two couples are already seated. Music comes from the kitchen. It sounds like the Beatles, but I'm pretty sure its Indian. A motorcycle buzzes by. High heels clack on the floor. The table across from me speaks loud enough for everyone in the room to here, but I understand only few words. Other tables speak in soft voices. I hear the munching of naan. I sit near the door. I see the reflection of paper lanterns reflecting in the window. I bump the table with my elbow. Lights intermittently flash past the front of the store. Spoons tap porcelain bowls. The shadow of my hand hits the page. The sink in the kitchen spits hot scolding water. A pan rattles on a cook's table. Various conversations phase in and out over the soft spell of Indian rhythms. The panand mushroom curry here is excellent.