This cafe reminds me of my childhood. I’m not sure why, perhaps it’s because the place is filled with syrup-sticky children at their happiest. Maybe it’s the simple perfection of the un-scooped ice cream, fresh from the freezer, like untouched snow on Christmas morning. Or maybe it’s the Coke floats on the menu that jump out at me as I enter, but instead I order a medium cappuccino. I forget I’m not four years old anymore. I forget that I’m twenty years plus. But how much does it matter anyway? I look over to a small booth by the window, and see an elderly couple sharing a chocolate sundae.
And then, I go back to the counter and order myself a Coke float.