She must be in her high teens or touching the twenties. A cute, lean, blonde she is. However, her face was without expressions, she seldom smiled and hardly talked. Her movements were robot-like. She stood behind the restaurant counter painted in black. The dominant theme of the restaurant was black. Black counter, black table-cloths, the pillars which held the glass panels giving us a view of outside were also painted black. She, like all the other waiters wore long black trousers, black shirts with long-sleeves. All that was visible from that black drape was her white expression-like face, dead tired eyes and her short blonde hair. In short, she and her team in that blackish restaurant intensified its melancholic air. My team ate three meals there for five days. We were there in that country which was part of former USSR. Tired after long meeting, we wallked in to the restaurant to be refreshed, but the melancholic air of the restaurant made us more tired and sick even though the foo...
“I don't know what I think until I write it down.” ― Joan Didion.