I start my morning with coffee, always.
I wake up at the crack of dawn, the sunlight slowly awakens me.
The bright light fills the room with colour.
I get up, put on a pair of jeans and a shirt and make my way down.
The house has two staircases,
bright white and made of wood.
They don’t make the squeaking sound which is often heard on wooden staircases.
I find my way downstairs,
into the kitchen.
It has a cold but comfortable feeling to it.
Monotone, simple and quiet.
I often make my coffee here, as a ritual.
A slow, patient way of making.
As if time stands still.
Today I’m not here.
Not in this kitchen.
Not in this house.
I find myself in an urban jungle.
An environment vibrant in colours, voices and faces.
Restless souls contaminate everyone around me.
I try and keep calm.
A guy is serving coffee.
His voice faster than the flow of his pouring.
I walk towards him.
I order coffee.
“Sure man, sure man”.
He can make me coffee.
The ladies at the table chatter continuously.
My eyes stare into their soul as I put words on paper.
All I see are restless souls.
They got caught in the web of the urban jungle.
The guy serves me my coffee.
“Enjoy man, enjoy man.
Do you like rap-music?
I rap too”.
His blurps are restless, like his soul.
I was never good at small talk.
Neither is he.
I sip my coffee slow.
I stare at those around me.
Am I truly this different or are those around me still seeking their peace?
The coffee is less good than I hoped.
I can’t blame the guy.
He is restless, so is his coffee.
I decide to leave.
This place won’t bring me much more than restless souls and poor coffee.
Mornings at my place are more comfortable.
Not only for the coffee.