This Isn't the Coffee Shop Date... No Seriously, it Isn't

“Yes, Kiyotaka-kun. Like holding hands and hugging.”

Nice, nailed it.

***

I was led inside a very inconspicuous looking coffee shop—apartments above it, cramped in between other tall buildings. It’s the kind of place you’d pass everyday on your way from home to school and muse the idea of stopping in, but never would.

Maybe it’s because you have no friends and the one time you did go in a group of kids your age were laughing amongst themselves and you started to get really hot and uncomfortable so you left.

But there could be other reasons too…

“A few questions, Akimoto-san.”

She blinked a few times with a neutral face.

“First, why’re you dressed like that?”

“I’m getting in the right mindset.”

The tone she answered in made it sound like it was the most obvious reason in all of human history.

She made me wait almost twenty minutes before we left so she could change into a goofy old looking suit. It was a dark grey three piece with a pocket watch on a gold chain. She even committed with a fake bushy mustache and top-hat.

This isn’t Venice at the turn of the century! This is an industrial city in Southern Japan!

“I feel like I don’t even have to ask you this, but why’re we here?”

“Table for two please,” She said to a server who greeted us with a half-smile.

Ah, she ignored me.

The server was a man who looked quite a bit older than us. He wore that modern middle-part curtain hairstyle—I can’t help but think it’s goofy even though it looks kinda cool. He had earrings too, aren’t only girls supposed to wear those?

We were seated and handed menus, the server let us know to call him over when we were ready.

“Akimoto-san, why’re we here?”

“Oh, my naive Kiyotaka… Tsk-tsk-tsk.” She had her eyes shut and gave a little smirk like some sort of light novel character. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“Throughout all of history, the greatest writers have always done their best works in coffee shops. Vienna, Paris, London, Bucharest, Budapest! The coffee houses in these cities contained some of the greatest ideas to ever be written.”

“Have you ever read anything from one of these “great writers”?”

“Ack—”

Akimoto choked on her own words—her face scrunched up and she flicked away.

“I’m waiting.” I crossed my arms.

Finally, I have the upper-hand. This is how it should be. Akimoto shouldn’t be the one lecturing me on this, I’m the writer, she is merely the pupil. I am the great teacher.

“Ah! Dostoev—”

“You’ve never read anything by Dostoevsky,” I said bluntly, interrupting her.

After mulling something over in her head with puffed out cheeks Akimoto made her rebuttal.

“...That doesn’t change the fact we’re following in his footsteps!”

“How!? We’re at a dead coffee shop in Kagoshima! We didn’t even bring out laptops!”

“It’s the spirit of it… or something…”

“I wouldn’t call this place dead, you’re just here at the wrong time.” The voice of an older woman interrupted our conversation.

As Akimoto and I turned our attention to the counter where the voice came from I swear, I swear on everything I heard applause. Is she someone important? Should I know her??

I’m going crazy because of Akimoto…

“It’s midday on a Saturday, shouldn’t this be it’s busiest time?” I responded.

“Life’s unpredictable, and people aren’t stagnant.”

“Wha? It– It’s not about— Isn’t that just saying this place is unprofitable?”

My turn the century companion nodded in agreement.

I feel as if I’m obligated to mention, she had three scones in front of her on a plate and an entire one in her mouth as she nodded.

The woman had a smile on her face like she cooked up the perfect response. However, thankfully, before she could deliver it, the only other person in this coffee house spoke up to her.

“He’s right. Besides, why’re you hanginout here alone in an OL outfit? You don’t have your cellphone or a coffee.”

The woman’s smirk faded and was replaced by a gloomy frown.

Who spoke to her was very obviously Fujioka dressed in her all black stalker outfit. She sat at the counter too, slightly hunched forward keeping her gaze straight.

“Does what you said about people not being “stagnant” directly contradict you?” Fujioka asked.

“W-w-well…”

“I mean you’re alone in a coffee house waiting to interrupt people’s conversations. You’re dressed like you recently got off work but what shift runs from seven til one in the afternoon?”

“...”

“Y-young lady.” The woman tried to regain her composure. “Don’t you have a school project or a short-term boyfriend to get back to?”

“And don’t you have a husband to get back to? Sitting here alone tells me you’re single, you appear to be in your forties—”

“Thirties…”

“And hopelessly waiting for some man to come in here and ask you out.”

Fujioka downed her espresso-shot in one gulp.

Our server—the man with the middle-part—commented from the kitchen. “They’re right, you know. You’re way too wishy-washy with Makoto, he won’t stay around forever.

“Even the bus-boy agrees with me, and he seems more single than you.”

Fujioka you can’t go and attack everyone around you! This poor middle-aged woman and now this guy just trying to live his life! I’m surprised she has physically assaulted me!

***

“Akimoto-san, that was pointless. We wasted over an hour in some coffee shop arguing with a middle aged woman…”

“It wasn’t pointless.” She huffed. “It was insightful. Don’t you feel more attuned to the real world now?”

“No. Not at al, no.”

“Haaa— Fine… Let’s go home and keep writing I guess.”