Through all of these tables, I sat on that one. This chair is the oldest, so it is the wisest. Dear chair, I wonder how many stories have you carried? How much have you suffered and endured to get these wounds on that torn skin of yours? I love the wrinkles on your face, it complements your grey hair. Oh here comes the Asian waiter who greets me with a smile that never gets old. Oh, the way that six-fingered virtuoso showers my cake with chocolate exhilarates me.
What I love about cafes is that the people change everyday but it’s almost the same. That leaning tower of Pisa is all over his lady whom he loves deeply and as she sips the goodness of life he recites poetry to the beauty of her eyes. The old man secludes himself in the corner and has a glass of warm milk. The vulgar man who mistreats my friend is always here in different vessels. The boys who come in with rolling eyes examine the place as if it were a crime scene.
What if I opened my third eye? Would I see their real stories? Their secrets perhaps? Is there a murderer? A thief? If only it were true … I bit most of them are calculus teachers. What is that on the front page? A new bomb has exploded on the east side? Rich, please bring me today’s newspaper … Never mind I’ll get it myself. I pulled out the rolled one thirsty for fresh news and before I knew it a gun fell on the ground with a bang that scattered them like cockroaches. My favourite cafe is now closed for investigation.