The Late Night Coffee Drinkers

You Had Me At Cappuccino

It all began on a late afternoon cup of coffee, Olivia and Millie had met for the first time over a smile and a hello. New city in a new country... old familiar habit.

"Do you like the locals" Olivia initiated, Millie crinkled her nose and rolled her eyes - an inaudible sound of strong opinion. Olivia nodded, and smiled... the very first conversation is louder than words. An emblematic discord of their distaste to their host country and its inhabitants of an emerging market.

However, neither can complain especially in the rising of the East, the heat wave and the cost of rent.

Olivia discerned, good ole Millie is an English woman from her accent to her imperialistic snobbery of the yesterday. "Are you from Europe as well" it is hard to find a fellow brunette in the East yet also easy to spot one. "Poland" the proud Olivia answered.

"Jak sie masz?" Millie surprised her with her minimal knowledge of Polish. "Dobrze" Olivia answered, "how did you learn that" she was curious. "I have a number of Polish friends" Millie said.

Millie sighed "I'm sorry my people voted against you" a sincere apology on behalf of leave voters. "They just have a lack of discernment that the Eastern bloc are full of great people when it started to seemingly Westernise itself even though it truly is Germany that separated us all."

Millie still isn't sure about how deeply entrenched is the Westernisation of the Eastern Bloc. At a young age, she had seen fights between Polish men against Englishmen on a train and on the street. At the dawn of her career, the same thing. Nonetheless, she met Russians in her host city in Asia who are more Westernised by being able to express their emotions in a polyphonic tune... or so she thought, but they're friendly.

But she had to see the good on people, or tries to do so. Better than dying alone.

The journalist made an impact on getting her rapport, "I'm a German teacher" the jolly westernised Polish woman laughed. "You know DW is telling people through their documentary that we are to blame for WW1 and passing the blame to Poland for WW2 how rubbish is that". Olivia's eyes grew and lit, "that's not even true... they conquered Poland!"

"But I watch DW despite their indiscriminate propagation of making Germany greater than America again. It is what I call the greatest German comedy show... especially with their public opinion of their chancellor. Makes you appreciate my Prime Minister" Millie said, immediately chemistry came between them like the perfect blend of Arabica beans, milk and foam.

"We should meet again, and hang out" a budding friendship that began with a cup of cappuccino. Numbers exchanged, a chapter begins... finally lonely days in foreign lands are begone.

In that early evening, Millie stayed on as Olivia had gone back to her apartment... bewildered by the noises of loud tactless conversations among the locals of their host land. Millie is almost used to loud conversations of noises that sound too foreign for her. After all she has technology to thank for earphones and YouTube, and it is too hot to return to a temporary dwelling as hot as an oven.

John Mackenzie, tall and handsome, entered the local cafe in full swing. For people like them, it can sometimes be easy to sit with a fellow citizen lookalike. However, it all depends on one's openness.

"May I sit with you" holding a cup of one shot decaf and two regular shots americano. Millie allowed John to sit with her, he looks harmless and he doesn't seem a bother.

"Where are you from" an ice breaker to any foreign Caucasian looking in an Asian city. "Canada" John answered, Millie's accent is a dead give away to fellow expats. However she alters it to locals, to avoid any possible asking for money and using her by money grabbing people... though being properly Caucasian is a toughie and the taboo of it all makes it harder.

"What made you come here" John asked as he drinks that cup of dark brown luscious Arabica coffee. "A foreign journo" with a sound of discontentment and "you". Her transparency had gotten the rapport of John "I work at an insurance company" a neutral sounding statement... the days when being a Canadian is enviable to anyone from outside its borders.

"Do you like the locals" John asked, normally when questions like this are asked the one asking more often dislike them locals though they cannot be blamed. They aren't here buying people for pleasure for them to like locals and they're not running away from inhumane taxation regimes of their developed countries, they are only mere mortals of organic compound.

"I had to answer that same question this afternoon" Millie said. "The only nice people here are the baristas but not all of them, and I wonder if they are really lovely because they're in hospitality" the most diplomatic yet most honest answer she could ever think of.

John acknowledged her answer, and only time will tell and unfold the regularities of pure honest conversations. Being a minority, it isn't easy.

It is the other customers... aside from these coffee table gathering folks, who are truly a pain in their, in our, in your and in my ass.