Winter cafe
As the winter is almost back with its regular jab, warm morning coffee tastes even warmer. I am sitting in a less crowded café L at the edge of the road, with coffee that occasionally soothes my cold hands and ears that collect the clutter of the people present. A rather disturbing rendition of Adele’s ‘Make you feel my love’ dissolves into the morning air of the café scented with freshly baked pretzels and clementines. I am sitting alone at the pub sized counter table carved out of sun yellow wood and has equally woody but little short stools labelled as ‘caution’ with black spray paint. There is the entrance sliding glass door on my left that is unusually angled, projecting as if a triangle ran into the café when looked from the outside. As I sip my sugarless morning caffeine, I stare into the street through a bare glass wall right in front of me. There’s a lady with a nose ring that just went past me and created smoke rings that quickly seem indistinguishable from the condensed vapour of other winter inflicted people. There are men with black Sherlock hats but jackets. There are women with long coats, jackets, colourful caps, scarves and babies in push carriages. There’s a tripartite crossing with Zinser staring opposite me. Although it has got two Christmas trees with golden unblinking lights and silver ball ornaments at its entrance, one of them is masked by a square pillar at the façade. There’s a ding and a tap on my shoulder.