A balding middle-aged man, on a cold Wednesday morning. His electric blue eyes empty.
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When his hot chocolate came, he eagerly sat it down from the waiter's fingers. It seemed like a full second he studied the crystal mug appreciatively, before attacking the foam with an enamelled teaspoon (the cafe had an impressive collection of foreign teaspoons, with their city of origin tattooed/soldered on the end of their handles.)
It was the clinking of his spoon that really caught my attention, his movements eager, as he delivered froth and chocolate powder into his mouth.
After more than 14 scoops (till the foam disappeared entirely), he proceeded to lift the mug up in for the kill. What begin as quick sips eventuated into unabashed slurps--each gulp punctuated with little sighs of pleasure.
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