Actually..

  There was a tired bounce in his step as he paced down the avenue. He would have surely used a cup of hot tea and some of those diamond-shaped cocoa biscuits his grandma used to bake when he was little. Do all grandmas bake for self-centered, indisputably sweet kids? Actually, the indisputably sweet thing about grandmas is that they never seem to notice when you are not a self-centered, indisputably sweet kid anymore. Or perhaps you never stop being one.

  The afternoon sun lingered on the edge of the dried, slowly bouncing leaves. He seemed to bear a strange, distant dance with their slow, sleepy movement. Nobody had warned him about lonely streets and late September. There's nothing calming about it when you find yourself synchronized with the daunting silence of an almost crimson, solitary cloud, and the anguishing light of that end of day.

  Driven by the chilly wind, playfully mocking all the people on the sidewalk, he entered the comfy, hardly known coffee-shop on the corner of the boulevard. He wondered if he should order a latte or just stare bluntly at the menu, in defiance of the amiable ways of the waiters. A mild irony painted itself on his lips at the naughty thought. He frowned lightly; what is that, a naughty thought, though?

  "Your order, sir." She was short, plump, and her hair made him raise his eyebrows in contempt.

  "My order, you say?"

  "Yes, sir. Yours."

  Her long, straight locks of light-blue hair whirled electrically in one funny pony-tail. She wore absolutely no make-up, and her eyes, narrow and piercing dark, fixed his in the most serious amusement. She had pale-pink, thin lips, which betrayed her with a light smile in the corner of her mouth.

  "My order is your name."

  "Well, I'm afraid that's not in the menu." Her face stayed professionally straight.

  "How very disappointing.." he grinned.

  The whole place smelled of fresh coffee, orange peel, and tea steam. He was a dark man, early forties, with dry, firm hands. His hair was a wavy combination of white locks and stray black hairs, carelessly combed backwards, uncovering the handsome profile of an ancient Greek. Tall and strong in his dark coat, he was a cynic. Her peach shirt and colored bracelets reminded him of the stale air in a child's room.

  "I will stare at the menu then, until I find something as interesting."

    The naughty though popped in.

    Hours flew by in the unknown coffee-shop on the shady corner of the boulevard. Waiters finished their turns and rushed home, customers ceased opening its doors, and one might have called it deserted if it weren't for the last table at the back, where a dark, handsome man locked his eyes to the very first page of a worn out menu, and if it weren't for the left side of the counter, on which a terribly amused girl leaned.

  She came at his table and sat on the empty chair in front of him. He just kept seriously staring at the menu.

  "Actually.."