My roasted onion and tymian soup is steaming nicely in front of me, the baguette bread that came along with it - it's not fresh anymore, probably one of yesterday's left-overs, but I won't complain - is still good enough a side dish to satisfy my current nutrition needs. I'm ripping, biting, chewing and spooning in peace while a girl customer, who sits about two metres behind me, is yapping the history of the world into her phone.
Unbelievable. I've got my soup, got my baguette; the light music is registered and immidiately forgotten, the sun is shining right on my table, and the book that I've brought I enjoy very much. Everything is fine. Everything except for that one girl behind me with her stupid well-pronouncing, high-pitched storytelling. Silently I clench my fist and imagine the story I would like to punch into her noisy face.
One of the clerks comes over to my table to collect my empty tray. "Is everything alright?" he asks. "Oh yes, great soup, thank you!" I respond. He nods with a fake smile and wanders off. "Everything's fine," I say. I brush off some bread crumbs from my lap and wonder why I'm so unbalanced these days. Good thing I'm facing the big window front and the outside world behind it. Great soup, I think. Everything is fine.
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