Music flows from the system on the cafe, In the foreground is a table covered with a white tablecloth. There is a morning breakfast: croissants, coffee, fresh fruit. In the background is morning sunrise on the seashore. Seagulls are circling in the sky. Sway, to be precise. My feet skedaddle, wanting to catch in the rhythm. My newspaper guy on the sidewalk greets. I smile, rueful, throwing in a lament for the existing regime. He laughs, as is the norm. What do you do? When all you can do is lament and toil harder? Toil, so the conditions don't apply to you? The shoe shiner says hi. These days, it's expensive. I'm making a habit of brushing my shoes in the evening before I sleep. I pick today's paper, the standard. Looming over it as I read the headlines. Brace Yourselves, harder economic times. How long? I wonder. How long shall it be? Before everything goes back to normal? I sigh. Tired already. Perhaps I shouldn't have grown up. And we should've had a choice in growing. The bell clings from the cafe, another regular walks out. It's time, I tell myself. I walk in. "Black," I say to the smiling waiter. I glance at the evening sky outside. Perhaps, it'll rain today. It would be nice if it did.
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