The kitchen was dark, the only legitimate light source being a murky stove lamp stationed above the stained metal coils scratched with pot dust. Danielle stood by the window and sniffed at the cool breeze passing through the screen by a candle. She looked out.
The meal was fine. Most of the conversation for the night had revolved around menial tax trouble and entirely arbitrary history trivia. A drink had been spilled, which was fine. Some sauce hit the table in the shape of a noodle - also fine. The meal was fine and nice and led off into a quiet evening by the window.
What else could be said?
Outside, trees grew dark.