The teeth are brushed, all ready for the short Sunday walk with the son . But he is not ready yet, despite the alarm clock having sounded a quarter of an hour ago.
So wait, turn on the coffee maker, the little electric Pavoni machine, fill the sieve with coffee and then, the machine now having heated up, fix the filled sieve into it's place in the machine. Flip the illuminated switch, and watch the coffee fill the large mug, the black coffee going all creamy on top.
Take the coffee to the open window in the bedroom, and drink there.
Wait for the son to get dressed
Read the news on the computer.
The son is dressed, ready to go,
leave the purring cat behind, the purrs coming in snorts, she hopes to come along.
Well, she can not.
The early morning is warm, the day will be hot.
Walk through the deserted town.
A tiny orange pick up truck belonging to the municipal cleaners approaches , it is driving up the centre of the pedestrian zone, passing the seating left out by all the cafés that will be open later during the day, pausing in front of the Mareis café, the n stopping. Two men get out, dwarfing the truck yet more as they stand beside it, and go into the café to get their morning coffee and a roll.
Go into the café with the son, he chooses his favourite cake, and so both sit down and watch the people come in who want to buy something for their Sunday breakfast.
This is the small Sunday father and son tradition now. Until something better is thought of.
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