THE STONE OF GHOST CAFE

Brussels.
Gare du Midi as they call The South Station over there.
Half of the city or half mouth of the locals who can speak French or Brusseleers, he local variety of Flemish.
Thinking too early to wait for my train to Paris, I see behind passing tram a cafe.
Cafe means in Brussels a place where most of the people drink beer.
And few drink cafe.
I enter the place.Sit near window.
At the end of narrow room a big table in half darkness.
Around the table, about 9 men faces covered with white powder.
And hands in white gloves.
I can only see faces and hands.
They are singing a song from Symphony of Hell..
Hitting the hands on table when the time is right.
I was frozen stiff seeing this.
Shouting as if the place is
A mad house.
Sieg Hell
Sieg Hell
I was shocked.
In a place that prides it self to be capital of Europe,the ghosts of willingly forgotten past are so free?
I was thinking they never get visa from where they live in past land
to come at much later time here.
Suddenly a young man appeared in front of the Ghost Cafe.He had curly hair,slim body I think he should be originally from North Africa or at least his parents were born in this part of the world.
He put his two hands against window.
And look inside, head between two hands making the glass window dark enough to see inside.
He stares to moving white hands and white faces.
His face is filled with anger.
One hand go to his back searching something in his bag.
Suddenly a big paving stone appeares in his hand.
He moves the stone back
And hit the glass.
The sound of crashing glass makes a sound wave and white faces and hands reacted by moving and shaking in all directions.
Particle of glass fly in
the air like a volcano explosion

The ghosts shouted a bit, expressing a fear of second death.
None of them tried to apply retributive justice on young man.
I felt cold wind in my back between my skin and my shirt.
Paid my bill and cross back the street to catch my train.