meeting a barista
'Where from you learnt this?'
She poured the liquid into the cup,
Stirred it on the fire for a while and placed it on the small circular mat.
'Very few people know that baristas are well travelled...'
'I brought fincans from there...'
It was only nine in the morning of a holiday.
Customers were scarce.
The aroma of coffee was hanging in the air.
'That means Turkey...'
Said working on a hunch.
'Yes! But how do you know?'
'Heard somewhere that they use fincans...'
'Yeah... they do...and they use a brass coffee pot...cezve...'
'Brought one of that too?'
Asked in a jocular fashion.
'You seem to take this job quite seriously...'
Made the remark,
'That is half of the trade...'
Took two quick sips from the cup.
The smell of beans was invigorating.
'You know something, they use Arabica, and they ground them to extra fine...'
'Brought them too?'
'Wish I could...'
Her voice became suddenly wistful.
The bell at the door rang.
An elderly couple entered the shop.
Knowing she would soon become busy, thought of wrapping up.
'I don't know Turkey... but this one tastes superb...'
Said and looked at her.
'Teach me one day, how to make this...'
'I will not...for then, you will not come here!'
She was pretty straight.