The Spill of Coffee (Episode 2)

9:30 a.m.

Chatters are all around the streets, babbled like a waterfall. It is the peak hour of the day. People are rushing. Distinct accents of the french and the incessant honking of the cars drifted through Clarice's ears. She smells the flavor of morning--- bagels, donuts and coffee. This city is a labyrinth of streets and alleys to her. 

"Quite busy huh?" Benedict looks around. "It's strange that they can still manage their etiquette in such a time."

"Maybe they got spells with them. This is the french culture, enjoy and live up every seconds. Their clothes, manners, all are exquisite. It's an altitude."

"Probably. So now where are we heading to?"

"I don't know. You know travelers are like balloons, no directions, no destinations, just wandering, searching for their next stop."

"How about a boat trip on River Seine? Or the Louvre?"

"Up to you, you're my tour guide today, don't you remember?" 



10:00 a.m.

"She has been standing in here for so long." Clarice looks at the lattice tower.

"Over a hundred years already. But I guess she won't feel boring. So many people come to visit her everyday." 

"No, she's always lonely. She has witnessed,experienced so many vicissitudes. Others think that she's just a skeleton of rusty metal. I think she's more than that. She's a charming, elegant lady under the sunlight in day. A beautiful, sparkling star under the spotlight at night. But when the midnight comes, she's a desolate, lonely widow."

"Why a widow?" Benedict looks at her, curiously.

"Her designer, Stephen Sauvestre had passed away. No one knows what she really meant now."

"Wow, interesting." Benedict whispers.

"Do I sound really weird?" Clarice laughs.

"No. Indeed, I think you can become a writer."

"Oh really?" Clarice blushes. "Would my book be a bestseller?"

"Probably." Benedict smiles."Let's get up to the tower." he grabs Clarice's hand and leads her. Clarice is shocked. But she doesn't refuse. Instead, she holds him back, and walk together.
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As they arrive the top, they are mesmerized by the scene. Paris, spread out like a living map, the streets, alleys, the classic architectures, lying like toy blocks, being placed methodically. River Seine flowing smoothly along the tower. Above the frenetic city hubbub, the sky is brilliant blue with a few wisps of white clouds, lazily drifting over the azure wash. River Seine flowing smoothly along the tower.

"It's so stunning." Clarice exclaims, her eyes shine as bright as stars. 

"They said if River Seine was a head of beautiful flowing hair, then the Eiffel Tower would be a Barococo hairpin." Benedict says.

"A head of hair need a hairpin as an embellishment."Clarice says.

"Want to buy some souvenirs?" Benedict asks.

"No, this is the best souvenir ever." Clarice looks at the morning city.

"Want to leave now?"

"5 more minutes."


//


10:00 a.m.

Clarice's room is so stuffy. She quickly opens the window. She can see the dust is floating in the air under beams of sunlight. Clarice puts her backpack on the floor and heads to Juliet's shop.
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The key twists in the lock of the wooden door. When Clarice steps in, she drinks in the aroma of coffee beans. The air is thick with the luscious smell of coffee. In front of Clarice is a small rustic counter, a rack of sugar, stirrer and tissues is placed on it, beside the rack is a calendar full of markings. A vintage vinyl player is on the counter, with different vinyls piled up next to it.

A huge blackboard is hung on the wall. Latte, Cappuccino, Espresso, Cafe au Lait, all are written on there with chalks. Behind the counter are various sizes of cupboards and shelves. On the highest shelf are teapots, one with gold gliding on the lid and spout, one with painted rose, one in baby blue color. The following shelves hold bulbous jars, filled with tea leaves, coffee beans, sugar and different kinds of spices. In the cupboard are cups, mugs and plates, stacked up neatly. Inside the glass domes are dainty desserts.

Clarice turns around to take a look at the whole shop. Beige walls with old movie posters, chestnut brown tables with wooden chairs. Light bulbs dangling from the ceiling. It seems every square inch in the coffee shop is covered.

Back in London, Clarice was a Barista. Everything in here is so familiar to her.

She puts on an apron and ties it behind her waist. Then wets the towel and wipes the tables and counter. She takes out a few of cups and rinses them under the running water and makes herself a cup of latte. Then puts her elbow on the counter, drinking the latte and looking out of the window. Seeing people and cars passing by.

After she finishes the very last sip of latte. She puts away her cup and turns the "closed" sign into "open" on the door.


//



10:05 a.m.

"Actually what's your job back in London?" Benedict asks

"Barista. To wake people up with coffee."

"Are you going to be a Barista in Paris too?"

"Thinking. Probably not. I want to try something new."

They stop at a fork in the road.

"Left or right?" Benedict turns his head to Clarice.

"Right."

"What do you love to do in your spare time?"

"Brewing coffee. I once tried out 10 different types of coffee in the afternoon, and I couldn't sleep for the whole night. But it was actually fun, for a Barista."

"So it's all about coffee?"

"Also writing. I keep all my ideas in the notebook in case I forget them. Turn left at the corner."

"Okay. It seems you are really into writing. Do you want to be a columnist? I could give you a job."

"No," said Clarice assertively. "but thanks for your offer." She stops at a vinyl shop.

"I wonder there are people still selling vinyls these days."

"Go ahead and have a look then."
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//

(To be continued)