Cafe Stories

 

I sit in the cafe and settle in for an afternoon of coffee drinking and writing. I look around at the cozy cafe, which is full to the brim of activity and regular customers ordering their usuals. I sit in the corner, with my coffee in one hand and pen in the other, at a small round table that is scuffed and stained with years of wear from the little white mugs.

At the table next to me, a young woman with a long dark braid sits silently, sketching a scene from out the window. I follow her intent gazes and immediately wish I could draw too. The sky is thick with gray clouds but the shops outside provide a rainbow of colours and carefully tended-to window boxes full of flowers. There is a curtain of rain falling around the mountains, which peak out over the top of the colourful village.

A mother stands at the counter, ordering coffee and pastries while her three children snap at each other around her legs. Behind her, and older man looks disgruntled. There is the exchange of money and goods and the mother shepherds her children out the door. The man approaches the counter and grunts at the woman behind it, ordering his usual in as little words as possible. She calls him by name, and smiles at him despite his attitude.

A small group of older ladies sit a few tables away from me. They are dressed in floral prints and pearls and sip their tea slowly, leaving bright lipstick stains on the white pottery. They exchange knowing looks and gossip. I catch snippets of their conversation, but I am too slow to keep up with their rapid German.

I enjoy just sitting and observing, waiting for the rain to pass and drinking strong coffee.

 

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