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I positioned a small palm frond directly in line with the plant across from me. I back away and rub the tip of my hands on my chin. Nudging the plant, I push it slightly to the left, stop and grin. Running my fingers through its green palms, making sure it looks presentable.


            “Does that look okay, John?” I ask.


            “Georgia, stop worrying.” He replies as he flicks his hand towards me.


            “Sorry, it’s just… I’ve been so frustrated lately.” I say as I cross my legs and place my arm on my hip.

            John walks toward me, places his hand on my back and kisses me on the cheek,

            “Everything will be alright. Just relax, breathe a little, and let’s get this restaurant together, okay?”

            I nod my head and place my fingertips under the wooden table and lift it off the ground. Feeling the weight on my forearm, my muscles give out and the table crushes down on my foot. I immediately scream and John drops the other end, rushing to me.


            “Georgia! Are you okay?”

            “Obviously not... A damn table fell on my foot, remember?” Saying as I cradle my feet with my hands.

            John grabs my arm and lifts me up onto a chair. He removes my black shoes and moans.

            “Yeah… You definitely broke something.”

            “Call my father, he’s a doctor. He’ll know what to do.”


John darts off behind the bar to grab his phone. As he dials, I look around the area and observe. A black gate stands tall, bounding out the other buildings and curious people. A large white tent hovers over, keeping the sun from wearing out the color of the furniture. Vibrant vintage lights dangle from the metal polls, which keep the tent raised.


All the furniture and plants are randomly organized and placed in no specific order. Each chair has a unique print and frame. Some have vines that stretch across the fabric with a burgundy backdrop. Others have flowers, bloomed and designed at their finest. Each stitch is threaded with expertise and skill, giving the furniture character.


The tables are mostly wood, having curvy or straight edges with variations of oak, mahogany, birch, ash; the list goes on. They are the center of attention, where all the action happens. Where the food is placed, conversations are made, games are played, everything. They are set upon sewed carpets, picked up at local thrift shops. The weight of the table leaves an imprint of its feet. Large variations of house warming plants hide behind sofas and border white scuffed up walls. They give a welcoming vibe and provide an immune atmosphere, contributing a palette of colors.


Past the boundary of the concrete floor, gravel is place along a small area. Three egg swinging chairs hang from a towering mango tree. Its ripened tender plums pull down on the trees branches. Benches are placed a few feet ahead and give a sitting place for hungry, social customers. A truck is to the right and holds about two workers making pizza: one who rolls and spins the dough, the other adds the toppings and bake.

A large sign sits at the front upon a large tarnished gate. It has a rectangle body and a rusted texture and seam. Through the sides, a red metal arrow dashes through along with red lights that turn on when the sun sets. In the middle of the template, cutout steel stencils are placed to read, “The Annex”. A white lamp hangs over the sign to promote the restaurant.

Not too far is a small advertisement that reads: “The Annex Wynwood, Restaurant and Lounge, Open 9:00am-to Close.” With a burgundy color, a large crown is printed above the text.


“Georgia?” As soon as my father interrupts my daze, the pain returns

“Oh father! I had dropped the table and it fell on my foot …” I begin to speak quickly in spite of not finishing the layout of the outside restaurant.

“Honey, calm down, John told me everything over the phone. Let me see your foot.”

 I raise it up and my face begs for the pain to be gone.

“What can you do? Do I need to go to a hospital?" I begin to panic and breathe heavily. My head pounds, like children trapped in a room, urdging to escape. I throw my arm out to reach for my fathers shoulder, but my vision doubles. My words slur and my fathers arm stretches out. 

"Take this , it'll clear your drowsyn..."

I can only hear a distant ring, and my vision dissapears. My body grows numb and I fall into a deep uncomfortable sleep. 

"Georgia...?" A mans figure blocks a heavy light. 

"Ye... Yeah." I look down towards my legs  and a plastic mask corrupts my vision.

"She's awake, sir."

I immediately tear off the mask and yell, "What the hell?"

"No! Georiga! Keep it on!" My father shouts.

"It's alright sir, she doesn't need the breathing mask anymore."

"My darling, you passed out." My father says, kissing my forehead.

"Yeah. I know. I'm really sensitive to this stuff." 

"Alright, thanks guys. I can take it from here." My father walks the ambulence out and they drive off. Walking back, he holds a large object in his hand.

“I have to see your foot, I need you to relax your muscles okay?” My father pulls aside a large black bag and pulls out a medical wrap. He rolls up his white sleeves, combs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair and clears his throat. Positioning his glasses, he lifts my toe and my fists clench as my face turns a bright red. He places a small metal rod on the back of my toe and straightens it. I start to breathe heavily and my father looks at me. "Keep your mind off of it okay? Think about something nice."

“I'm sorry.” I close my eyes as he begins to wrap my whole foot. The urge to pull it away becomes greater. He turns his back and places his hand on his knee and glances at John.

“Hey, John.”

“Yes... yes, sir?” He says as his chin raises. Uncrossing his legs, he stands up.

“Could you get some ice for me? Thanks”

John lets out a short moan and runs over to get some.

 He turns back to me and pulls his glasses to the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t believe you’re still dating this man, he’s scrawny and weird. I see him trying to impress me. It’s actually kind of funny.” He smiles to himself.

            “Dad!” I flick his head and his cheeks poke out from the side of his face. John returns from the bar and nearly misses another accident by tripping on his own feet.

“Here you go sir.” He says out of breath. He hands over the cold ice and whips the water on his shirt.

“Thanks, John. You’re a real champ.” He begins to chuckle and places the ice with a paper towel on my foot.

John smiles, buffs up his chest and sits back down on the cushioning chair.

“Alright, you’re all fixed. Now make sure you do not put pressure on your foot for a few days. Here are some crutches. Don’t wreck ‘em, they belong to the hospital. I love you, darling; I have to get back to work, now.”

“Love you Dad.”

Grabbing his black leather bag, he solutes to John and makes his way to the car.

“Georgia, your dad is intimidating.”

“Yeah, I can see how you act around him. It’s okay. Just relax, breathe a little, and let’s get this restaurant together,” I wink and hit him on the back, “Let’s go champ.” I laugh to myself as John rolls his eyes and picks up the table.





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