始めての喫茶店体験

Silence is the canvas, brushed with the soft hues of classical jazz in the background and speckled with the occasional sounds of the kissaten (喫茶店).

The clinking of a metal spoon against a coffee cup’s porcelain wall.

The symphony of rustling newspapers as their readers, scattered across different booths, turn their pages almost in unison. One of them clears his throat in staccato.

The whirring and rattling of car engines, interspersed with the pedalling and ringing of bicycles, filter through the door and layer onto the soundscape.

The flicking of a lighter’s wheel, as the beckoned staff lights a cig for an elderly regular, perched on his usual stool in the bar counter’s corner.

The creaking of an ageing chair as its occupant, a rare young lady, adjusts herself. Her eyes, never leave her phone, and her cig, never leaves her lips.

The gentle bubbling of a siphon coffee maker sends the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee to dance with the quilt of spiced smoke, collectively woven by the cafe’s patrons of the past and present.

The chiming of wind chimes punctuates the air, signalling the arrival of newcomers. A pair of tourists, just like us, stumble upon this wonderful time capsule. They stare in awe before taking seats right next to the door, afraid of tainting this beautiful picture of calmness.

The record of my first kissaten experience.