The el speeds past an indifferent landscape, much of it devoid of association or meaning. Yet embedded in the landscape is a memory, like a tiny glimmer of quartz in all those dull rocks that lie on the beach, waiting to be picked up and looked at more closely. In this case, the memory is of a hot summer night at the restaurant MK: happily threading through the crowds thronged and waiting for tables, ascending with my guy to a choice table in the loft, dressed in a ruffled yellow silk blouse and a white pencil skirt.
This photograph has been given a diffusion glow.
Harley says
Quite a while ago i ate at MK and found the food to be very good but also it was pretty expensive.
Celia says
Harley–You’re right about that. I ate there only once, and it was a very special occasion. I still remember what it tasted like, too!