Faced up. Quiet across a square upright with plastic flowers for company.. They struggled with the English, just wanted another helping. Life through a phrase book. Hand moves aside to adjust the cutlery, in a right angled hold. On your conscience. Has to be right, but you tell yourself to do it regardless, that is the quirk. Stone walled and wine rack, one missing. Thinking of the right time while you nip off. How many struts and connectors, how does the angle work? What way does the bottle sit in it. How long do they sit there? Is that the idea? Or are they not for show and the dust? That is what I expected, now bending around the curve of your head and shoulders, blurred out of focus. Elbows forward to the conversation and an adjusted gaze down towards the salt and pepper. The selection of sugar. Best friends living life and running out, one before the other... Lost to their own tastes. Coupled but ultimately different, different paces. But they fit together when and where it matters... They go well together or alone. The best combination. Two bricks through the froth, leaves a depression to be smoothed by a spoon. A design from a talented barista, or a machined stencil... Contemporary solutions. And it is the same methodical swish that mixes the brew, tastes good as ever. It is my turn again, and Sunday turns over for ignition.

They are the best ones after all.