Wedding Bands--FFM Day 8

In a dark, dank street corner coffee shop, cockroaches and small mice lay strewn across the checkerboard-tile floor.  Abandoned cobwebs crept across the vaulted ceiling, shadows cloaking the peeling wallpaper.  What used to smell of vanilla and fresh-baked scones now reeked of disinterest and mothballs.

Years ago, couples flocked to this shop on cold, blustery days for hot chocolate, espressos, and abstract poetry.  But that was before, when love was still allowed.  Before it was punishable by public hanging.

Deep in the shop, buried beneath neglect and dust, porcelain coffee cups clinked, breaking the silence.  A lone black widow, hungry and hunting, curled her legs around a wedding band and hoisted herself back to her web, the ring in tow.  The diamond glinted as a stray sliver of sun caught it, throwing a rainbow across the wall.

In the middle of the floor, a trapdoor--long forgotten--clicked open.  Coughing, a man emerged, his suit a bright, garish flamingo pink and a little black book held in his hand.  Plucking a wedding band from the now over-flowing coffee cups, he gave a loud sigh and looked around.  "Seems I have work to do.  I just hope I'm not too late."