Cafe

I want to be at a Cafe
it's airconditioned and it smells like
when you're eating an icecream cone and you get down to the bottom tip and there's a vanilla puddle.
I would look around and pick from the tables with cushioned seats and marble tables.
I could listen to the quiet murmur of conversations over coffee.
I could go outside and hear jazz coming out of the speaker or
observe the cars going too fast over the speed limit
whooshing past the sidewalk.
I could buy some orange sorbet
and lick the first bit of fresh citrus while I'm handing over 3 dollars and putting my change clink clink into the tip jar.
I can tap on the window with my nails.
I can feel the crisscross waffle cone in my hand and then a sticky zig zag line of orange moseys down my hand and I gotta soak it up with a napkin.
I have a smile on my face like everyone else there.
Because no one can swallow something that meltedly delectable
without a grin.