sniffing at every corner

the shoes on, both the father and the son.
ready to go, to leave the house.
The same path as the regular path to work, up the alley to the church.
The cobbled alley with the tiny narrow footpaths done in heavy red tiles.

There is the sound of the organ from the church, loud, the organ with all the registers pulled by the organist. Walk around the church.
There are two women standing in the middle of the road smoking cigarettes, wearing low priced gaudy garments made of modern day fleece.
Plastic.
Walk under the archways, comment on the open café. The son does not want that one, he wants to go to the bakery shop. The bakery shop is no cheaper than the café, it just feels cheaper. We wait in the line, the son gets a coke from the freezer. His turn comes, he orders a turkish roll filled with mozarella and tomatoes. The father orders a cup of coffee and buttered pretzel.
Both sit down, at a space overlooking the wet cobbled street. Watch the two shop assistants botch the installation of a sign advertising the loaf of the week, a bakery item sold at a reduced rate, containing sunflower seeds and potato starch.
People will try anything. Perhaps the reduced price will favour custom.

Finish the coffee, finish the cola. Return the bottle, regain the deposit. Put the tray with the cups, the plates and the cutlery into the dumbwaiter standing at the door.
Walk through the damp streets of the small town.
And at home, let out the cat onto the street. The cat is nervous, and explores carefully, sniffing at every corner. Then a car passes, she rushes to the safety of her home.