I sip my coffee as I wait for my profiteroles to arrive. I have been waiting for them more than I judge necessary, but I don’t feel like complaining or being bitter today. The day is being nice and I don’t want to ruin it. I am in a small coffee shop that I discovered in one of my many walks through the city. I was told the little and hidden places are the best ones, and I agree with that. Except when they take forever to bring your food. The profiteroles finally arrive, the apologetic face of the waiter instantly fading away as soon as he sees my smile. Don’t get used to it, friend. It is not a custom of mine to smile at strangers. Unless they bring me food. I eat slowly, appreciating their flavor and the warmth of the coffee. It is black and bitter, the way I like it. The small coffee place is located in a street with a funny name not so far from downtown. I don’t think many people know this place. The advertisement is not very flashy, you would only find it if you knew
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