My kingdom for a breath of cool air: … since the fans fifteen feet over our heads at Cafe Colucci on Shattuck Avenue tonight weren’t doing their job. Oh, yeah, sure, they spun. Rocked a little in their housings to “You Should Be Mine,” the Brian McKnight tune that played over the house speakers; circulated cooking scents and grill aromas; made the thin green leaves on the potted plants against the far wall cast shuddery shadows against the brightly lit walls painted in pale yellow with goldenrod trim. But it didn’t make an odd frond of reeds bend in the breeze on either of the two baskets suspended over the glass case full of pastries next to our table. And it didn’t cool us off. We made do with lemonade and water, with last Friday’s Chronicle and today’s Berkeley Daily Planet and with sitting still and waiting for food, for the check, for time to go back to our building where every apartment with a window opening inward to the atrium is open, loosing barks (though we thought pets weren’t allowed), stray snippets of the 10-o’-clock news, coughs and glimpses of people lying flat on beds like pats of butter and jam on slices of bread.

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