The Barista Who
Pablo let out a massive sigh. "This is perfection" he thought to himself. He had just recently moved to this town, and here he was settled into the perfect cafe in the town's famous "Caffeine Mile". Some towns and cities have a little area where a certain type of business concentrates. Pablo used to live in London, where Charing Cross Road is famous for second hand bookshops, Saville Row for expensive tailors, Brick Lane for curry restaurants, Shaftesbury Avenue for theatres... and so on. Now he lived in a foreign land, and he was glad to live near this street full of cafes. Living alone in a small flat, and largely working from home, he needed a place where he could quietly work away on his laptop, with a good cup of coffee.
He was also glad that on his first try, he seemed to have found the perfect place. The coffee was just the right strength and the right kind of roast and bean. He never knew whether or not he liked Colombian, Ethiopian, Guatamalan, Kenyan, Java, or whatever else best, and he was only half-sure that he liked a dark roast best... but this coffee had come out perfect without having to make any hard choices. The 'regular' here suited him just fine. Happily he noticed that the coffee was fairtrade and organic too. So, he could just walk in and ask for a regular coffee, and without having to give any special commands, his ideal cup of coffee would be the result. The chair was comfortable too, and there wasn't any music. The place wasn't crowded, nor was it distractingly quiet The staff were friendly enough, without being annoying. If he was really being honest with himself, the barrista (not the one who served him, sadly, but the other one) was very beautiful. Although he wasn't here to talk to people or anything like that - he was here to work, and work more efficiently than he ever could in his flat - it wouldn't be so very bad, if the next time he came, she served him...
Pablo walked out into the perfect sunny afternoon, so glad to have found this special haven, but immediately he bumped into a bespectacled, tweed-clad lady carrying a stack of papers. Hurriedly, he helped her gather up the papers, scattered around them on the ground, with a few getting lifted by the breeze. It was an overly-polite encounter, with both of them apologizing to each other after they had gathered the papers.
Once the lady was on her way, Pablo suddenly realized that he had lost his bearings. The street looked as it had before his perfect coffee just now; a confusing mass of signs, an enticing array of windows, a beautful mess of outdoor seating, the aroma of coffee all around... but no clue as to which of the many doorways he has just passed though.
"Oh well, if I come back afresh tomorrow, I'm sure to find my way back to the same cafe, right...?"
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