Mangled Shoes

Untitled Part 50

Deborah raised her head to check where the skylight was coming from.

The lights in the ceiling were African chandeliers, she noticed. It was a very creative site!

The wall was covered in writing. Among these, a few say: Among these, a few say:

"S'hole Jackson was here."

"Best coffee in town."

"FiR3"

"Educate."

"Peace, love, unity."

"Waters."

On the walls were paintings of legendary figures like Oliver and Jackson. On the walls were paintings of legendary figures like Oliver and Jackson.Incense blazed. The room was heavy with the lingering smell of Egyptian Musk Agarbatti Champa. It was a perfect match with the aroma of coffee. It filled the voids in one's thoughts and was smooth. Here is a work of art! Here was meant to be the place of miracles, but healing had not taken place. "Wow, I love this place." In a whisper, Deborah told herself.

She nearly forgot that finding work was the main reason she had come here. She went to stand at the counter. A small brick wall covered in coffee sacs stood next to the counter, and a commercial countertop refrigerator filled with cakes, donuts, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and even large cakes was situated next to it. The plug was located here, presenting African coffee beans. The measures of foot traffic were the main emphasis of the business concept. Increased foot traffic translates into higher revenue and sales. It was everything that made home seem like home—nothing like the crowded shebeens and car washes from the area, and nothing like the upscale eateries on Nelson Mandela Avenue. With tables and chairs constructed from a variety of woods, including reclaimed wood, it had a natural feel. African napkins and tablecloths were placed atop the tables. This place was strange and yet rustic. It was age-appropriate. The youthful, elderly, careless, and creative

She stared at the candies on the counter display, mouth-watering. Her eyes looked up to greet the waiter and waitress behind the counter.

"Hello, Sir, Madam."

"Hi, how can we help you?" They both answered simultaneously.

These two didn't appear particularly cordial. Maybe Deborah was reacting to her prior trauma and her sense of being unwanted. But she soon recognized that they were not the people she should be talking to if she wanted to inquire about potential career prospects. She made appropriate word choices.

"You can assist me, sure. Yes. How much for a cup of coffee, huh?"

"A coffee cup is N$15.00." The waiter answered, seeming a little annoyed.

"And a donut?" Trying not to set him off too much, Deborah questioned

"Donut is N$6.00." He was answering, rolling his eyes this time.

"What about a chocolate chip cookie?" She continued the brief conversation.

"N$12.00," he responded, trying to terminate the conversation.

At last, his associate retrieved the menu and presented it to Deborah.

"Ma'am, these are all of our prices. Would you like to wait for us to come retrieve your order while you get a table for one upstairs?" The overconfident, spotless waitress said as she tried to preserve her work ethic and customer service abilities.

"Up/down? Do you folks have an upstairs, Haii and Wena?"

"Yes, if you look to either your left or right, you'll notice stairs in each corner." The waitress said

"And if you look down, there is a basement downstairs." The waitress added