It wasn’t December, rather, a grim October haunted by a relentless early chill. Dipping my hat, I hurried across the cobbled street. Opening the door, I delighted in the glow of table candles and the low hum of conversations. The place was charming and oblivious to the danger.

Our eyes met and the shooting began.

Ross Coppage.

The Cafe In the Village is a post from: Timeless Writing