Cecilia’s

By Phaedra Letrou

A creative writing piece.

I wasn’t sure what irritated me most, the way the Maitre’d spoke to us or his general demeanor. He was wearing brown linen pants with a matching brown linen shirt, exuding a sense of bourgeois bohemian-ness that had spread throughout north London like the flu. His voice was forcefully deep, and his thin glasses vibrated as he asked us, “Do you have a reservation for this evening?”