On Afternoon Tea

White clouds rose up from the bottom of my tea. I set the creamer down and stirred the caramel liquid. I was sitting in a corner booth of the National Gallery's Cafe for afternoon tea. China quietly clanked as I sipped the warm, semi-sweet liquid. Waiters, in their penguin dress, hurried about conveying tea and food from the kitichen to the tables.

I sat. I sat observing the room about me. The man who was sitting by himself two tables down. The group of ladies talking energetically in the center of the room. I sipped. I sipped in the semi-sweet scene laid out before me, and the nuances of my own conversation.

The tray of sweets and sandwiches was brought. Tasting and exclaiming ensued. The tiny morsels had soon disapppeared, leaving only crumbs on my saucer. I sipped my tea, imbibed with years of tradition, to the last lukewarm drop.