The door with a 'Closed' sign

All the upturned chairs would make the small ,really small patisserie look like it was playing dead.

I would not be fooled(the best is always in the end) and would try to coax the man with the broom to nugde it alive.....atleast a small corner of it....one limb....because I would be deliriously craving the last crumbs of something good that is always left behind
The ceramic plates would go a-clanging and I would talk…or not talk.
Comfortable silences,spurts of conversation and many comfortable moments later,I would wistfully watch people walk past,like the slipping phrases of a poet's thought...one of them would accidentally bump into the door and it would ever so gently sway...

the door with a ‘closed’ sign...