Walking down a cafe-lined street in Barcelona, I was struck by the endless window reflections broken by vertical framing into segments. Where the window cornered, mid-way in the painting, I saw the reflection of a young blond woman, face in hands, seated up the street from me. In the other window, the reflection of a slump-shouldered young man moved away from us.
In this painting, only the foreground chairs and one table are real. The viewer is left to guess from window reflections the story behind the glass.