Cafe tastes of coffee cake and orange juice, a slice of toast slightly burnt and smothered in lemon butter. The oils stain my tongue – polished wooden blinds with citrus and the citron sheen of your lip-gloss.
Memories of cigarettes and salt linger on my tongue, not yet shrouded out by the espresso in the cake. I asked you earlier if you were interested in that little cafe down the street, so here we are. The inevitable answer seems to be, no.
The coffee is bitter, the lemon butter too sweet and the mood has soured.


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