Waiting for our food to arrive, the four of us sat at the wooden table, two to a side: Boy, girl, boy, boy.
"This table seems very short," Jenna said.
"Yes, it does," I agreed.
Outside, on Frank Sinatra Drive, fall was happening. "I looked up for a second and thought it was snowing," Jenna said.
Behind me, on the other side of the exposed brick and through the glass windows — just outside of Maxwell's — a million golden leaves rained down onto the street. They danced from their homes, fast and strong and desperate; a lovely, wild marathon from tree limbs to ground. It seemed fake. It seemed almost wrong. "What's going on out there?" someone else asked.
"I guess it's just leaves."
"Yes, it does," I agreed.
Outside, on Frank Sinatra Drive, fall was happening. "I looked up for a second and thought it was snowing," Jenna said.
Behind me, on the other side of the exposed brick and through the glass windows — just outside of Maxwell's — a million golden leaves rained down onto the street. They danced from their homes, fast and strong and desperate; a lovely, wild marathon from tree limbs to ground. It seemed fake. It seemed almost wrong. "What's going on out there?" someone else asked.
"I guess it's just leaves."
