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139 – It Is Possible
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2025-09-12 07:19:09
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The Price of a Second Chance 139 – It Is Possible
The next day began like all others: whispers on the sidewalk, flashes against the glass, and customers who came more for curiosity than for coffee. It was routine. I had already gotten used to counting seconds between one camera click and another. Every time I went down to get a cup, I felt the eyes weighing. The wolf inside me scratched, restless, closer and closer to the skin.It was in the middle of this atmosphere that he came back. The reporter. Same coat, same folder. Did not seem tired of crossing the barrier of fear that surrounded the coffee. "Black coffee, without sugar."The code. As always. I prepared in silence, but I noticed that my hands trembled more than usual. He noticed. He did not comment. Just waited for the cup."Have you slept?" he asked, as one tests deep waters."It doesn’t matter." My voice came out rough. "Here, no one sleeps right. Neither me nor them."He drank the coffee in slow sips. The world around him seemed to speed up, but he moved in his own time.
The Price of a Second Chance 138 – There's a Chance
I closed the cafeteria later than usual. Not that there were many customers, but it was difficult to face the silence of the house afterward. Here, at least, the noise of the kettle and the tinkling of the washed cups pretended normality.Outside, the cameras had already gone. The show was over for today. The curious few who passed on the sidewalk looked without the same hunger of the morning. Perhaps tired, perhaps waiting for the next scandal. I, in a still damp apron, looked at the reflection in the glass. The expression was of a man, but the eyes always betrayed me.He was ready to turn off the lights when the doorbell rang.My body reacted before my mind. Shoulders tense, fists closed. But it was not provocative; it was not an indignant neighbor nor a group of teenagers. It was he. The long coat, the leather briefcase. The reporter."We’re out of time," I moaned.He closed the door behind him without haste. "I know. That’s why I came now. When there are no cameras."I sighed. "An
The Price of a Second Chance 137 – Not Today
The night never brings me rest. No matter how exhausted the body may be, the mind remains active. I lay listening to the wolf scratch against the bars, remembering every look, every camera that blinked at me during the day. Sometimes I think even my dreams already have headlines.I woke up before the sun again, not for discipline, but for not being able to endure the silence of the morning. I made coffee for myself, the bitter taste reminding me that I was still alive. Then I went to open the cafeteria, more for stubbornness than for any hope.When the bell rang for the first time that morning, he was not a customer. He was not a provocateur. It was he. The long coat, the leather paste, the look fixed as if it was going through my skin."Black coffee, no sugar."The same words, the same code. But this time there was something different. His rhythm was not that of yesterday nor that of the day before yesterday. It was someone who came prepared to go further.I prepared the coffee in si
The Price of a Second Chance 136 – Return
I did not expect to see you again.I thought it was just another face among so many, different, yes, but still transient. He had gone out the door, leaving behind those words that stuck: "If you do not speak, they will continue to write for you."I thought it had ended there. That he would leave, write something, or give up, and that was it. But that night, as I closed the cafeteria, I still heard his voice echoing next to the scratch of the wolf inside me.It dawned, and the cycle began again: whispers outside, cameras waiting for any movement, and customers who came in more to see the monster than to drink coffee. My routine was no longer routine; it was a spectacle.And then, when the doorbell rang for the second time that day, there he was. The same long coat, the same worn leather folder. The same fearless look."A black coffee, no sugar."The same words. Almost like a code.This time, my voice did not come out hoarse. It came out rough, crossed by tiredness. "You came back."He
The Price of a Second Chance 135 – Reporter
The kettle hissed again. The repetitive sound was almost hypnotic, as if mocking my attempt to maintain normality in the midst of chaos. A piece of routine survived while everything around crumbled.The cameras were still outside. Always outside. I had already gotten used to the brief flash of flashes through the glass, but not with the feeling of being constantly watched. Every sip of coffee, every breath, every time he blinked, someone recorded.The doorbell rang, and by reflex, my whole body moved.This time, it was not a rushed customer, nor derided teenagers, nor curious merchants. A man came in, tall and thin, with a coat too long for the heat of the day. Carried a worn leather briefcase, such as real journalists still use when they want to look serious. The smell was neither of provocation, nor of alcohol, nor of exaggerated fear. It was neutral.He walked to the counter without rushing, and for a moment, I thought it was just another curious one, another ready to film me up cl
The Price of a Second Chance 134 – Visits of interest
The silence inside me never lasts. There is always a noise, a snap, an insistent scratch that reminds me that I am not only a man. Today, this noise was louder because it came from outside as well.The whole city seemed to have decided to speak at once. Headlines, glances, whispers, cameras. I didn’t need to see to know: it was stamped everywhere. Monster. Again.I arrived early at the café, earlier than usual. I wanted to prepare everything before the first customers showed up. Perhaps, unconsciously, he wanted to enjoy a few minutes of peace before the storm fell again.I put the water to boil, lined up the cups, and organized the coffee packets as if each were a single piece. An invisible trench against the world. The noise of the kettle was the only thing that sounded normal.The doorbell rang. The first customer. It was a woman with a child in her hand. She came in looking sideways, as if every corner hid danger. The boy pulled her sleeve, curious, but she held him firmly, almost
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