I think I’m in the old part of Paphos because I’m walking on cobblestone roads, but I’m not sure.
I haven’t explored Paphos enough yet.
I see a table full of men drinking coffee on a patio.
I check the chalkboard menu, and as I go to enter, one of the men at the table jumps up to serve me.
He suggests a ham and cheese toasted sandwich, which sounds great.
Tomato? Yes. Cucumber? Yes.
I also take a seat at a table on the tiled patio, midway between the men and a woman with white pants, a black top, and funky white-rimmed sunglasses.
She is writing something into a book that looks like a ledger, and soon I see she is affiliated with the cafe, talking with the server in a business tone about something.
Her son is over at the table with the men, one of whom must be his grandfather.
The little boy, maybe four years old, gets plenty of hugs and kisses, and gets his hair ruffled a few times, by his mother and grandfather.
The boy is well-loved.
I look up and down the street and see that it is filled with outdoor plants.
I hadn’t noticed right away, but I’m sitting beside four of them.
As I’m sipping my latte, three retired couples walk by, all wearing baseball caps.
One of the women throws her arms in the air and says, “Does anyone know what direction we’re supposed to be going?”
Nobody answers, but one of the other women, probably used to her friend’s dramatic tendencies, simply points down the street and they all follow her in that direction.
There’s drama just up the hill now.
A standoff between a house cat and an automobile.
The cat is resting in the middle of the narrow road and the car cannot pass.
The car edges forward and still the cat does not yield.
When the car edges even closer, the cat stands up, stretches, turns its head to look at the car for few seconds, then wanders off to the side of the road as if it was his own good idea.
The sandwich and coffee are excellent and I’m content in my little chair beside the plants.
