It was such a quiet, peaceful Saturday evening. The sun peeking between a pair of five-story apartment buildings, keeping an eye on us to make sure we weren't having too much fun. The air was filled with the wonderful aroma of flowers, playing with our senses, carried on the slight spring breeze.

The waitress carried off our dinner plates, the remenants of my cobb salad on my plate, half of a chicken parmigana sandwich on focaccia on his. We just smiled at each other, his fingers ever so slightly brushing the skin of my hand as it rested around the stem of the wine glass, arm lazily streched across the chaotic tile pattern on the surface of the little cafe table. The deep red of the wine giving a slightly colored cast to our skin.

"Thank you for such a beautiful day, dear," I said, as I gave him a small smile. "I'm glad you found out about this little place. The food was incredible."

"I told you this was my day to suprise you," he responded, his voice as soft as ever.

I lifted the glass to my lips, taking a small sip of the wonderfully fruity liquid. I heard the sirens off in the distance, but paid them no heed, as one gets used to their whine in the city. As it grew in volume, I turned my head, looking in the direction of the horrid scream of sound, realizing they were heading this way. A couple blocks down, I saw a pair of police cars tear around the corner, followed by a large number of big, grey trucks, all with lights glittering on top.

I watched as the cars came and pulled across the road right in front of the little cafe, not more than ten feet away from what had been a wonderfully calm and relaxing day. The steel monsters stopped not far behind them, and suddenly people poured out of the backs, dressed in black, standing around in groups.

Someone started passing out equipment to them as we watched, helmets, shields, a few devices of unknown purpose but whose design did not suggest a friendly usage. I heard them talking to each other, though I could not make out what they were saying.

We quickly finished our glasses of wine, summoning the waitress over to get our check. As we waited, I looked down the long path of cement in the direction opposite that which the men, now looking like an alien army in their gear, came from. I saw a crowd in the distance, of what I could not be certain.

When the waitress returned, my friend immediately put some cash down on the table, plenty more than the bill could possibly have been, but our concern had left the cost of the wonderful meal, focused entirely on avoiding what confrontation was about to occur, not wanting to be caught in the middle, like had happened to so many innocents back in Seattle.

We ran down to the train station, having said not a word to each other since the police arrived. Finally, we were safe, as the train started moving, taking us out of the events that were bound to happen, back to the safety and peacefulness of suburbia, grateful for once for its sterility. As boring as it is, I figure it's preferrable to be there, learning about what happened through the safety of television on the evening news, than to be caught in the middle.

A nodeshell challenge from slide.

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