Librex Del Amorx
“It’s not quite lunch yet. I’ll just take a cafe con leche,” I said to the cute red-headed waitress. She leaned against the black, twisting, wrought iron rail that wrapped around Il Bistro’s patio. She scrunched up her lips with confusion. “Siento, siento,” I laughed. “I’ve been speaking nothing but Spanish for the last two years. Coffee with milk, please.”
