The low murmur of conversation lay under the clinks and thocks, of cutlery against ceramics and ceramics against table top and the hiss of the steam from the barista's coffee machine and the soft sounds of milk being poured into complex pattern atop the creamed beverages.
Chuck asked Aryana to meet him at a cafe where he knew he could get a secluded booth at the back despite the mid morning coffee run of the nine to fivers. He sat sipping his espresso, a half eaten bagel on his plate next to the daily newspaper, open at the business section.