There is no reserved table or elegant tablecloth. Just two green plastic chairs and a fire escape in Brooklyn.
As soon as the weather starts to warm up, this elderly couple steps out onto their improvised balcony and repeats the same ritual: sitting across from each other, talking about nothing and everything, while the city keeps making noise down below. A neighbor spotted them from her window and couldn’t stop watching them: according to her, they have been doing this every spring for years.
There is no ocean view or lit candles. There is something better: one person who keeps choosing the other, with a brick building in between, year after year. Because, as they say, there is no favorite place, there is a favorite person.
