Sunday, 25 November 2007
I wondered why the Maitre D’ said nothing about the mangy black dog that had entered the terrace of the upper-scale Greek restaurant where I was savouring seasoned Calamata olives with my extra-dry gin martini. The man he followed did not strike me as blind; this much seemed apparent by his attire, a sapphire shimmer to his grey Versace suit, the crisply pressed French cuffed shirt and a silk yellow tie. One would think he had awoken this morning and decided to coordinate his clothes with the weather. Spring had erupted with urgency yesterday and so had the tulips, crimson reds and sunshine yellows dotting the front yards I had passed on my way to Delphina’s. The neighbourhood awoke from its lengthy white season and filled the carpeted fawn coloured parks and street-side cafes. Despite a slight mist in the air, the sun’s warmth broke through convincingly and the breeze carried with it the scent of newly blossomed lilacs. It wasn’t until the dog yelped near my feet, looked straight up into my eyes, his tongue and tail (both) wagging that I (and the Maitre D’ ) realized that the black beast was no one’s companion - rather, he was merely a customer of the four-legged variety, he too wanting to take in the fresh aromas of sunshine and ripened tomatoes.