The handle

Maybe the waiter has put some wildflowers on my table, maybe they are yellow and he guessed the color I love, which smells of jealousy and envy, of the many men left over the years. It will be that I am more than twice her years of her and she looks at me as if I were an aunt dressed in the days of holidays, that she bows and claims a basin, holding tight the string of pearls that she has not worn for a long time .