at ten on Christmas Day

A short distance away, the son, crouched down beside the bed. In the dark. He is calling out softly.
He wants to go to the cafe.
For a coffee and a coke.
On Christmas Day.
He does not believe the cafés will be shut.
It takes half an hour, until eight in the morning to awake and get the day clothing on.
Then we go out, him wearing his new green parka, his father in his old brown jacket.

go through the creepy crepuscular lighting of the old town, it is barely twilight yet. Around the corner of the alley there are two policemen and a third man, all standing tense around the speedily parked police car, all with a distance between them. There is some police business taking place here. The one policeman is talking on a telephone, he is asking loudly for some personal details.
Pass this group, there are lights in the cafe farther up the street.
But the little cafe of choice is closed for Christmas.

Go on through the deserted streets, to check on the other café.
It is dark, and there is a note in the window, saying that it will open on New Years eve.
Oh.

Look up at the windows in the upper stories of the old houses.
There is one bright with Christmas lights and decorations.
Look up again, there is a woman opening the windows, to let in the air.

And on the way back home, pass another café, it has a note saying that it will open

at ten on Christmas Day