She sat in the back of the café.
Ear pods on and listening to a playlist of music.
Dark jet black hair just about elbow length;
Staring at the picture, the photograph;
Hanging on the wall from the early 1920’s;
It struck her in where she saw him.
Recalling the tie pin that glimmered in the sunlight.
Silver; his pocket watch and full rimmed glasses.
The saloon where Betty came to sing every Friday.
Big dreams of being famous as they are;
Young and full of innocence.
White steam shouted from the expresso machine
As the timer started beeping indicating
Breakfast was ready at half past noon.