"Can I haaaaave... Ice caramel... Coffee?"
"With ice cubes or ice blended?"
"I meant medium.... Take away please."
"Having here or take away?"
"Take away. . ."
His weak, barely audible voice. . .
My friendliest smile fails to crack his stoic expression. His bored eyes remain unfazed by the world.
A small man.
It's as if his very soul has plunged out of his dark eyes and jumped straight inside a jar, probably sealed and tucked behind the shelves of the kitchen (wherever it is)
As he presses the button of the blender with his slender fingers, the blocks of ice cubes spin and spin. In seconds they are crushed relentlessly and blended into million rocks just like his emotions of hatred, regret, sorrow and longing.
As he pours the mixture of coffee, caramel and ice, reality starts flowing into the transparent cone container. The brown liquid of broken dreams and unreached destinations swirl and gradually settles inside the plastic cup.
And then, all his handicapped dreams are squeezed and condensed as he presses the lid tightly over the cup. He throws in a green straw, hoping someone might taste the story he wanted to write, a different picture he wanted to paint- another life he wanted to live.
"For the people who walked away from their dreams."