This is not a cliché.

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17
Friday
17 January 2020

As ice melts in the glass

Ice melts in the glass. Will it join water, or vodka? We do not know the nature of the clear liquid it bobs in.
Ice melts in the sea – the ice caps, that is. They protect us and yet we are the cause for their disappearance. The pianist keeps on playing at the Bistrot, and the notes sway in the air, awakening a smile upon the lips of their listeners. Ice melts in the glass, a poignant blues adrift in a sea of happiness and... who knows? Only time will tell.