The word is do nothing, or do something, I can’t remember. Sitting in a cafe drinking coffee and reading the paper used to be fun, now it is like wading through a thick dream where you are being wrapped in seaweed and pulled under water. The purpose of ever action seems to be to avoid something worse, or escape some terminal social crisis.
They sat down in the cafe, sighing with a slight amount of pleasure at the aroma’s that filled the room. It was nothing that hadn’t been experienced before, but it always brought a certain amount of pleasure with it. Coffee and pastries, salads… all simple foods but still, comforting to a working folk.
I went to a cafe in Italy. It was raining and I was so happy. We had the whole day in Venice ahead of us. Romance. No worries. Nothing but me, him and a cappacino. The whole trip ahead of us.
Just a café, nothing more, and yet everything in its orbit. A city, a world, a cosmos, a life, all sprung from this nexus, this primordial café, the very mittelpunkt of reality itself. Best of all, they served a most exquisitely delicious oberammergaueralpenkräuterdelikatessenfrühstückskäse.
we sat there. it was our first date. i always took girls to coffee for the first date. i don’t drink coffee. i’ve never had a cup in my life, but it’s a good place to talk, the cafe. a good place to talk and plan and wonder and hope.
Crossing my arms from the numbing chill, I walk past several little boutiques and a few old, dull hidden shops. And then I see it. My eyes are just automatically drawn to the brightness of it, the cozy, amber seal it had from the cold outside world.
Café is not coffee. Though related and give a feeling of similarity, it is not so. Its about personality, while one gives off a taste of sophistication and abundance, the other tells tales of the hard worker who drinks out of necessity.
she sat in the cafe waiting for him to show up. why did she put herself through this torment? he had managed to wiggle himself way deep into her skin. she couldn’t shake the hold he had on her. her passion for him made her weep and him chuckle in disbelief. she was the cutest girl he’d ever met. even so, no one had yet been able to curb his awful habit of being late for everything. she’d show him.
Conjuring images of chilly spring mornings, wrought iron chairs and tables not too cold to keep the denizens inside. Oversize black sunglasses, slicked back hair and cigarettes, always cigarettes, and teeth somehow still white gleaming as they sit at their tables on the streets of Paris.
mehh, i love some… not the best place, but its small and a place to chill and relax with friends, and have a good time. Best place to just hang out and talk, no worries about life or work, or drama, or anything.
oooh i love cafes! I love the whole ambience you get when you enter into a cafe. Especially those boutique cafes. It’s like being transported into a brand new country. And living in sg, being transported is fairly important..
Si stava in un bar, un bar di tanti in una città come tante.
Poi, in quel bar entrò una ragazza.
Ecco, con l’entrata di questa ragazza il tutto cambia, il bar non è più un bar tra tanti in una città tra tante. Ora il bar è il bar dove vidi quella ragazza, quella ragazza che beveva un caffè
It was a hot afternoon when I entered the cafe. I was looking around for an empty seat when my eyes met his. His eyes told me what they felt, and it was sad.
When you thought that you had tasted the best coffee in the world at you favorite cafe, you are blown away when you happen to turn into one that is next door, and take a sip of your favorite brew.
A place we used to visit, Jackie and I. Pickled onion chips that’s crisps for people from other countries. We used to chat away walking down that long road which isbactuallybonly a few blocks but seemed so long then. And when I needed a wee but was still a few blocks from home, I would kneel down shove the heel of my foot into the hole and that seemed to allow me to keep going for longer. Apples were 5 cents. Groovy cool drinks we the new cooldrinknon the block. Of course as we neared the boy loving stage, we would find any excuse to walk down to the cafe in the hope of bumping into one of our latest passions.
I used to love going to Costa…Living alone, no one really gets to make me a drink. It’s always just me. So watching someone lovingly prepare a caramel latte & hand it to me with a smile is a beautiful, simple joy.
How I long to sit in a little cafe, my art journal at hand, relaxing with an iced coffee and a smile. Instead its off to work at the crack of dawn, sky still dark. Work on the horizon.
Sanae’s cafe is a safe place. All of the shops are safe from the Noise and the Reapers, of course, but this cafe seems more so. It’s a small place, not well-known- in all the years he’s been dropping by, Joshua hasn’t seen more than three people occupy it at a time, himself included- but it’s homey. Comfortable. And that’s more than Joshua can say for any place he’s actually called ‘home.’
(If anyone knew that Sanae was CAT, the man would be overrun. But he likes his privacy, and certainly needs it because of what he is. Joshua is glad for that, as much as Sanae complains about slow business.)
He remembers coming here when he was young and very much alive, back when the man had just opened the cafe. Quite the stroke of luck, that was; Joshua clung to the safety Sanae offered, until it came time that he didn’t need protection anymore.
Now, he drops in mostly just to wind down- or to pick on his Producer. Neku, too, if he’s around (and his relationship with both of them is still somewhat strained, but they all understand each other. It’ll be all right.). Either way, he knows he shouldn’t visit the RG so often. It’s not exactly dangerous for him, but it is dangerous to his and Sanae’s identities. The world doesn’t know about these beings called Angels and Reapers and whatever lies between, wouldn’t believe anyone who told them, but Minamimoto was a prime example of what the Reapers could do (or try to do) with that information.
For now, though, he’s not too worried. He blows on his tea, and when Neku steps into the building, he waves, smiling.
I stared out the window. People walked past, some rushing, some walking aimlessly lost in thought. There was something about watching people live there lives that fascinated me. It was the small unique things that people did or wore that seemed to capture the essence of who they were. The difference between the person who cautiously stepped onto the road compared to the one who strolled across without a seconds thought. The weird fashions, trench coats, wellies, ripped shirts, fur coats…. The junkie outside trying to convince passers-by he needed money for a bus, yet we were nowhere near a bus stop. Hundreds of lives criss-crossing past each other so close but never making contact.
it was always cozy
because you paid for the ambience
and the drinks were warm
and we pretended that we were of high class
and not just
poor kids who wanted to catch up
with their grades
i wanted to work in a coffeeshop
because it seemed so lovely,
away from the world,
in a little bubble
away from the rain
i didn’t see the customers
or the angry orders
just the
ambience
coffee shops
are too
romanticized
they make you think
that cafes are the churches
for the damned
artists
or that they’re the comforts
of home
for the homeless wanderers
or even just
flocks for sulky teenagers
and adults who think
they’re still teenagers
i’m awake, i’m warm
my pocket is empty of bills
and
i don’t want to leave this place.
It doesn’t matter if a café is rundown or posh. As long as you’re with the right people, you’d be able to find satisfaction in the flaws, whether it’s the atmosphere or food.
With you, just hanging out in the school café and watching a movie, can be perfection.
It’s a place where people go to have a cup of coffee. Usually they do that just for fun or to have a rest. Maybe, they meet with their friends and have a little chat. Cafe is a place where everyone feels calm and free from thoughts. Maybe, it can also be a place where you have a little snack between work hours.
I’ve always wanted to go to a café with a bunch of friends to chat about nothing in particular, spending time people watching and jotting down weird ideas in a sketchbook while sipping an aromatic macchiato. Now that a bunch of trendy hipster coffee houses are opening up around and about, I don’t want it anymore. Damn consumerism.
The aroma of the coffee beans floated out of the open doorway as she pushed her way in, the bell above the door chiming.
“Welcome!”
She made a bee line to the counter, hitching the satchel strap up her shoulder before glancing at the menu. Deciding on a cup of Cafe Mocha, she opened her mouth to speak only to be caught off guard by the cashier standing in front of her.
he sat at the table, with a latte in his hand an a book in his lap. the people rushed all arounf him and he barely paid them any attention. he was finally here. all those months, weeks and days of planning were done. here and now. nothing could be more perfect.
She hid there often, too afraid to go home. Too afraid to face the truth of the emptiness she’d left behind. She’d write; sometimes enough to almost fill the novel floating around in her head and sometimes words, just an endless list of words with little meaning yet so much hidden behind each syllable . She had places to go but there was so much safety in the silence of the coffeehouse. She was could be anybody there and nobody at the same time. Nobody cared who she was as long as she paid for her cup of coffee.
The unmistakable smell of coffee hit like a wave as she walked into the cafe. The noises of the busy street were replaced with small talk and clinking cups. A place of warmth and welcoming that no one could appreciate as much as her. She found a seat by the window and as she sat, she unwrapped her scarf and removed her beanie. The coldness of winter forgotten as her mind became lost once again in her safe place.
a lot of people go to cafes but mostly ugly ones. i go there with my pet monkey and even he points and stares. cafes are full of maggots and cockatoos. they drink and laugh and share stories but theyre really just shitty for being in cafes. shitty shit heads.
He picked up his order from the barista – a tall Americano, one pack of sugar – and sat down in his normal chair by the window of the little cafe.
He sipped the hot drink, bringing out some of his files from work for him to peruse. He continued in this fashion, surreptitiously glancing at the door every few seconds.
The bell by the door rang as a woman stepped in, shaking her hair free of the stray snowflakes, brushing some of them off her coat. She went to the counter and ordered her usual – a Caramel macchiato and a bagel with cream cheese – and went towards her normal seat by the window of the little cafe.
He said nothing as she slid the chair across from. She got out a book – the sequel of the last book she was reading, he realized – and opened it to where her bookmark was, getting absorbed into the story.
Neither of them said a word to each other, though both of them had a hint of a smile.
Que qieres?
Pregunto el camarero
yo lo vi con mis ojos mojados
el reflejo de un sol bajando en los rincones
olvide, por el momento, lo que estaba haciendo alli
solo, en un cafe, mirando el despide del dia
Sitting at the window, looking out into the streets, rain pattering softly against the window. Smells of warmth and the slightly acidic notes of coffee beans, freshly roasted and ground. People mill about, soft murmurs of conversation drifting like an undercurrent.
You always hear stories about falling in love at first sight
A fateful morning in a cafe; one glance and it felt right.
I’m not the type to draw intrigue; looks as generic as can be
And yet somehow he fell in love with one as plain as me.
Cafe at night, under the rain, and I see women pass through the street, under their big black umbrellas, their spinning umbrellas that carry on amongst themselves as if it was a dance, the urban dance of the night cafe, under the city lights and the light rain, the bohemian umbrellas.
The word is do nothing, or do something, I can’t remember. Sitting in a cafe drinking coffee and reading the paper used to be fun, now it is like wading through a thick dream where you are being wrapped in seaweed and pulled under water. The purpose of ever action seems to be to avoid something worse, or escape some terminal social crisis.
They sat down in the cafe, sighing with a slight amount of pleasure at the aroma’s that filled the room. It was nothing that hadn’t been experienced before, but it always brought a certain amount of pleasure with it. Coffee and pastries, salads… all simple foods but still, comforting to a working folk.
I went to a cafe in Italy. It was raining and I was so happy. We had the whole day in Venice ahead of us. Romance. No worries. Nothing but me, him and a cappacino. The whole trip ahead of us.
coffee warm paris lemon french cuban aroma get together morning biscuit seltzer starbucks
Just a café, nothing more, and yet everything in its orbit. A city, a world, a cosmos, a life, all sprung from this nexus, this primordial café, the very mittelpunkt of reality itself. Best of all, they served a most exquisitely delicious oberammergaueralpenkräuterdelikatessenfrühstückskäse.
I’m in a coffee heating a good and amazing cake, but someone is arrive.
France
Coffee
Food
Music
People
Pastry
Hot Tea
Muffins
Friends
we sat there. it was our first date. i always took girls to coffee for the first date. i don’t drink coffee. i’ve never had a cup in my life, but it’s a good place to talk, the cafe. a good place to talk and plan and wonder and hope.
Crossing my arms from the numbing chill, I walk past several little boutiques and a few old, dull hidden shops. And then I see it. My eyes are just automatically drawn to the brightness of it, the cozy, amber seal it had from the cold outside world.
Café is not coffee. Though related and give a feeling of similarity, it is not so. Its about personality, while one gives off a taste of sophistication and abundance, the other tells tales of the hard worker who drinks out of necessity.
she sat in the cafe waiting for him to show up. why did she put herself through this torment? he had managed to wiggle himself way deep into her skin. she couldn’t shake the hold he had on her. her passion for him made her weep and him chuckle in disbelief. she was the cutest girl he’d ever met. even so, no one had yet been able to curb his awful habit of being late for everything. she’d show him.
Sitting at the café, trying to make sense of everything. A pointless effort in futility, as always. And the coffee stinks.
Conjuring images of chilly spring mornings, wrought iron chairs and tables not too cold to keep the denizens inside. Oversize black sunglasses, slicked back hair and cigarettes, always cigarettes, and teeth somehow still white gleaming as they sit at their tables on the streets of Paris.
mehh, i love some… not the best place, but its small and a place to chill and relax with friends, and have a good time. Best place to just hang out and talk, no worries about life or work, or drama, or anything.
oooh i love cafes! I love the whole ambience you get when you enter into a cafe. Especially those boutique cafes. It’s like being transported into a brand new country. And living in sg, being transported is fairly important..
Si stava in un bar, un bar di tanti in una città come tante.
Poi, in quel bar entrò una ragazza.
Ecco, con l’entrata di questa ragazza il tutto cambia, il bar non è più un bar tra tanti in una città tra tante. Ora il bar è il bar dove vidi quella ragazza, quella ragazza che beveva un caffè
It was a hot afternoon when I entered the cafe. I was looking around for an empty seat when my eyes met his. His eyes told me what they felt, and it was sad.
I like coffee. I like drinking café at home and in a café as well.
When you thought that you had tasted the best coffee in the world at you favorite cafe, you are blown away when you happen to turn into one that is next door, and take a sip of your favorite brew.
A place we used to visit, Jackie and I. Pickled onion chips that’s crisps for people from other countries. We used to chat away walking down that long road which isbactuallybonly a few blocks but seemed so long then. And when I needed a wee but was still a few blocks from home, I would kneel down shove the heel of my foot into the hole and that seemed to allow me to keep going for longer. Apples were 5 cents. Groovy cool drinks we the new cooldrinknon the block. Of course as we neared the boy loving stage, we would find any excuse to walk down to the cafe in the hope of bumping into one of our latest passions.
I used to love going to Costa…Living alone, no one really gets to make me a drink. It’s always just me. So watching someone lovingly prepare a caramel latte & hand it to me with a smile is a beautiful, simple joy.
How I long to sit in a little cafe, my art journal at hand, relaxing with an iced coffee and a smile. Instead its off to work at the crack of dawn, sky still dark. Work on the horizon.
Sanae’s cafe is a safe place. All of the shops are safe from the Noise and the Reapers, of course, but this cafe seems more so. It’s a small place, not well-known- in all the years he’s been dropping by, Joshua hasn’t seen more than three people occupy it at a time, himself included- but it’s homey. Comfortable. And that’s more than Joshua can say for any place he’s actually called ‘home.’
(If anyone knew that Sanae was CAT, the man would be overrun. But he likes his privacy, and certainly needs it because of what he is. Joshua is glad for that, as much as Sanae complains about slow business.)
He remembers coming here when he was young and very much alive, back when the man had just opened the cafe. Quite the stroke of luck, that was; Joshua clung to the safety Sanae offered, until it came time that he didn’t need protection anymore.
Now, he drops in mostly just to wind down- or to pick on his Producer. Neku, too, if he’s around (and his relationship with both of them is still somewhat strained, but they all understand each other. It’ll be all right.). Either way, he knows he shouldn’t visit the RG so often. It’s not exactly dangerous for him, but it is dangerous to his and Sanae’s identities. The world doesn’t know about these beings called Angels and Reapers and whatever lies between, wouldn’t believe anyone who told them, but Minamimoto was a prime example of what the Reapers could do (or try to do) with that information.
For now, though, he’s not too worried. He blows on his tea, and when Neku steps into the building, he waves, smiling.
Farewell strings, farewell ties.
I’ve come to say goodnight to your autumn eyes.
I stared out the window. People walked past, some rushing, some walking aimlessly lost in thought. There was something about watching people live there lives that fascinated me. It was the small unique things that people did or wore that seemed to capture the essence of who they were. The difference between the person who cautiously stepped onto the road compared to the one who strolled across without a seconds thought. The weird fashions, trench coats, wellies, ripped shirts, fur coats…. The junkie outside trying to convince passers-by he needed money for a bus, yet we were nowhere near a bus stop. Hundreds of lives criss-crossing past each other so close but never making contact.
it was always cozy
because you paid for the ambience
and the drinks were warm
and we pretended that we were of high class
and not just
poor kids who wanted to catch up
with their grades
i wanted to work in a coffeeshop
because it seemed so lovely,
away from the world,
in a little bubble
away from the rain
i didn’t see the customers
or the angry orders
just the
ambience
coffee shops
are too
romanticized
they make you think
that cafes are the churches
for the damned
artists
or that they’re the comforts
of home
for the homeless wanderers
or even just
flocks for sulky teenagers
and adults who think
they’re still teenagers
i’m awake, i’m warm
my pocket is empty of bills
and
i don’t want to leave this place.
It doesn’t matter if a café is rundown or posh. As long as you’re with the right people, you’d be able to find satisfaction in the flaws, whether it’s the atmosphere or food.
With you, just hanging out in the school café and watching a movie, can be perfection.
It’s a place where people go to have a cup of coffee. Usually they do that just for fun or to have a rest. Maybe, they meet with their friends and have a little chat. Cafe is a place where everyone feels calm and free from thoughts. Maybe, it can also be a place where you have a little snack between work hours.
I’ve always wanted to go to a café with a bunch of friends to chat about nothing in particular, spending time people watching and jotting down weird ideas in a sketchbook while sipping an aromatic macchiato. Now that a bunch of trendy hipster coffee houses are opening up around and about, I don’t want it anymore. Damn consumerism.
The aroma of the coffee beans floated out of the open doorway as she pushed her way in, the bell above the door chiming.
“Welcome!”
She made a bee line to the counter, hitching the satchel strap up her shoulder before glancing at the menu. Deciding on a cup of Cafe Mocha, she opened her mouth to speak only to be caught off guard by the cashier standing in front of her.
“Thom, I wasn’t expecting to see you here
The cafe was a small one, nestled between the outboard motor shop and the local cobbler. It was one of those places one only sees in small towns.
he sat at the table, with a latte in his hand an a book in his lap. the people rushed all arounf him and he barely paid them any attention. he was finally here. all those months, weeks and days of planning were done. here and now. nothing could be more perfect.
She hid there often, too afraid to go home. Too afraid to face the truth of the emptiness she’d left behind. She’d write; sometimes enough to almost fill the novel floating around in her head and sometimes words, just an endless list of words with little meaning yet so much hidden behind each syllable . She had places to go but there was so much safety in the silence of the coffeehouse. She was could be anybody there and nobody at the same time. Nobody cared who she was as long as she paid for her cup of coffee.
The unmistakable smell of coffee hit like a wave as she walked into the cafe. The noises of the busy street were replaced with small talk and clinking cups. A place of warmth and welcoming that no one could appreciate as much as her. She found a seat by the window and as she sat, she unwrapped her scarf and removed her beanie. The coldness of winter forgotten as her mind became lost once again in her safe place.
a lot of people go to cafes but mostly ugly ones. i go there with my pet monkey and even he points and stares. cafes are full of maggots and cockatoos. they drink and laugh and share stories but theyre really just shitty for being in cafes. shitty shit heads.
He picked up his order from the barista – a tall Americano, one pack of sugar – and sat down in his normal chair by the window of the little cafe.
He sipped the hot drink, bringing out some of his files from work for him to peruse. He continued in this fashion, surreptitiously glancing at the door every few seconds.
The bell by the door rang as a woman stepped in, shaking her hair free of the stray snowflakes, brushing some of them off her coat. She went to the counter and ordered her usual – a Caramel macchiato and a bagel with cream cheese – and went towards her normal seat by the window of the little cafe.
He said nothing as she slid the chair across from. She got out a book – the sequel of the last book she was reading, he realized – and opened it to where her bookmark was, getting absorbed into the story.
Neither of them said a word to each other, though both of them had a hint of a smile.
Que qieres?
Pregunto el camarero
yo lo vi con mis ojos mojados
el reflejo de un sol bajando en los rincones
olvide, por el momento, lo que estaba haciendo alli
solo, en un cafe, mirando el despide del dia
Sitting at the window, looking out into the streets, rain pattering softly against the window. Smells of warmth and the slightly acidic notes of coffee beans, freshly roasted and ground. People mill about, soft murmurs of conversation drifting like an undercurrent.
You always hear stories about falling in love at first sight
A fateful morning in a cafe; one glance and it felt right.
I’m not the type to draw intrigue; looks as generic as can be
And yet somehow he fell in love with one as plain as me.
Cafe at night, under the rain, and I see women pass through the street, under their big black umbrellas, their spinning umbrellas that carry on amongst themselves as if it was a dance, the urban dance of the night cafe, under the city lights and the light rain, the bohemian umbrellas.