Just like two drops of milk.
Just like two drops of water, Wynonie Harris’ song, echoing in the air of a perfect autumn in the city, fading from the little cafeteria windows. The door is open to the little cafe, welcoming the mild weather. The walls are painted solid blue, soaking in that bluesy sound coming from the old turntable. A crisp pour of espresso blends into the pure white milk. Stirring quickly, the barista frames the drink into a robust dull-black, and creating perfect coffee shapes on the surface. Sound and smell of foam, calm, muffled and creamy, while the roasted brown coffee beans, not yet coffee juice, eloquently stains the milk.
“Piccolo latte”, her voice abruptly calls the drink, interrupting my dreamy memories.
It’s not London 2015 anymore.
Warm wood on my floor now and coffee powder in my pantry.
Giulia's Column 