We needed a good coffee, something strong like an espresso. We went out, looking for some. After a little while, we saw in a window display, an espresso machine and some little Italian flags in coffee cups! There was also a very small sign with the magic word Café above the door. Despite the sign, the coffee machine and the flags, this place didn’t really look like a Café or a restaurant. There was something private, secret about it. Guided by our addiction, we opened the door. It was quiet. We saw a long counter and two little red enamel tables. We looked at each other full of hope. As we slowly made our way in, a man showed up and glared at us. There was something Boris Karloff about him, something in his demeanor that was telling us that this might not be the right place. But nevertheless we had found the place, we were in, and we were thirsty, there was no way back. We risked, “We’ll have two espressos?” There was a slight pause, a silence, and then the man pointed to one of the tables. We sat down. There was no music playing, no flowers on the table. He was already behind the counter working. We could feel his gaze. The smell of the coffee started to take over. After he put the cups in front of us, we paid him. He pocketed the money and disappeared behind a curtain at the end of the counter. Then, all of a sudden we heard a flurry of other voices, two or three other men. They were speaking, yelling in Italian, swearing in English, the energy was on the angry side to say the least. It felt weird being there. We hoped that they were not talking about us. We drank our espresso in a hurry, put a fifty-cent on the table and left. As we stepped outside, we could feel the adrenaline rushing in our veins, it felt pretty good. DHD