Her silky scarf covers her hair, trailing around her neck. It is powder blue; attractive, as is her face. Her dress trails to the floor, her body covered for modesty. The pot of Ginger tea is steaming and you remember the biscuits you ate as a child with lashings of hot milk. The logs on the fire burn delicately; the heat embraces you as you sit and cup your mug. The table displays a single gerbera, stemmed with wire. The waitress wears a flowery dress and she has tartan ribbons in her hair. She skates towards you, and brings with her a plate of pink cup cakes. The icing is pretty and the cakes are sweet, like birthday cake. You remember your childhood parties and the cakes that adorned the table. Your friend orders a lemon crush. It arrives in a tall glass, containing ice cubes, topped with orange slices. You feel cool. It is cold outside but the sun shines through the window and rests on your face. I imagine summer to hide from the cold.

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