A BREAKFAST IN PROSE
by Daniel Antón
It had been raining all morning. The skies were closed and grey. The smell of the humid soil in gardens flooded the air. Some drowsy pedestrians struggled to avoid the puddles which spotted the pavement and still reflected the streets as mirrors do.
There was a bar heading down the deserted main street. Inside, the smoke of cigarettes accumulated at the top of the room like fog which had been dying the white ceiling throughout the years. Nevertheless, the inner environment seemed both homely and warm. The aroma the coffee maker gave off enhanced that sensation of tradition and authenticity that customers thank for. The steam covered the glasses of doors and windows and let a cute blond girl draw smiling faces with her tiny finger.
Two vivid waitresses in turn waited upon the customers who were at the same time enclosed in their own routines, with sights put down on wrinkled newspapers or over the boiling coffee served in ceramic cups which got the client’s hands warm while they seized them for a long time. In spite of the fact that each person had their respective stories and experiences, they were sharing that peaceful moment there.
The old wooden tables were being left little by little as people were awaking from their evident daze. Finally, the rising sun passed through the glazing slightly and got rid of its veil of steam so as to change the gloomy atmosphere and let the new day start.