At The Existentialist Cafe Novels & Stories

Welcome, esteemed guest, to Chocolate Kiss! Enter, be transported to our rustic haven, Where you can relax and have some quiet meditation. Our service is best, forget about the rest. Have a sweet tooth? Not a problem! Our cafe’s cakes will satisfy your cravings. Freshly brewed coffee, scrumptious bread baked daily, Come, take a break, no need to hesitate! If you happen to have lost something that’s yours, Come through our doors. The fox will grant you what you’ve been searching

I wondered. Why are the rooms empty? The Kadens must be terrible business people if they barely had customers to keep this place running I concluded. I was then alerted by the sound of small talk and tea cups coming from the last floor. I marched toward the cafe and with every step I took, the brewing smell of coffee came closer to my nostrils. I reached the café but remained on the last staircase. Unlike the second floor, a little activity was happening down there. I saw Alex mixing two cups of coffee at a time while a few people sat scattered across the tables in the little room. There was a faded brown apron tied across his neck and seems like the old man was too busy to notice me until s

Maybe. I glanced at the front of the cafe Jess pointed at. 'Poirot's' was written on a glass window. I peered inside and saw a couple of wooden tables and chairs with padded seats. The bar was put on the side of the room instead of on the back like Starbucks. Behind the cash register, there was a short guy with a mustache; he wore a hat similar to the one used by Hercule Poirot in Agatha Christie's books. I wasn't a fan of Agatha Christie since I loved Sir Arthur's Sherlock Holmes more, but even I couldn't resist reading one of her books: And There Were None. The short guy was giving a customer his change, and I looked further down the cafe interior to study its decor, but when I slid my gaz

"There's a café on the east side. Quiet. Out of the way. Most of our people don't go there. I'll text you the address." Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to a small, dimly lit café that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1970s. The kind of place that served bad coffee to insomniacs and people who didn't want to be found. Dante was already there, sitting in a corner booth, facing the door. He wore jeans and a dark sweater instead of his tuxedo. He looked younger like this. More real. I slid into the booth across from him.

Alex arrived thirty minutes early. Not ten. Not fifteen. Thirty. Café Aurelia always attracted the city’s best-dressed, busiest, chattiest people in the mornings but not today. Not if he could help it. He stood at the counter, scanning the room with lawyer-level precision. “Do you have any private spaces?” he asked. The manager blinked. “Private spaces? Uh, no sir, we’re an open-seating café.” Alex nodded once, then set his black card on the counter.

"The café. Four hours. Anyone who is not ready to kill or die should stay behind." Nobody stayed behind. Because we were all ready. Ready to end this. Or die trying. The only two options left.

“Here's the story in a summary, I-” My sentence was paused midway as I heard a feminine voice next to me. “Welcome to the summer cafe. May I take your order?” She asked, I kept my head low, not wanting to reveal my identity, while trying to control the urge of giving her a deadly glare. “A cup of black coffee,” Phlux answered, “And for you?” “Coffee with almond milk.” I replied, “What else?” She asked, Phlux, noticing I didn't want to speak, took up the duty.

“Take me to a cafe. Now.” Without a word, Thea turned and walked toward her car, her steps mechanical, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled. I followed behind, enjoying the sight. I knew that with a little encouragement, this woman could be a valuable asset to my plans. ** We arrived at a small, quiet cafe on the outskirts of town, a place far from the public eye. When we got there, Thea parked and invited me inside. We chose a table in the corner, away from the windows. I sat down quietly, ordering some food and drinks. Thea, still looking confused, stared at me as if she had just realized something was happening.

It wasn't particularly crowded, it wasn't conspicuous, and it seemed far too unremarkable for someone like Hector Graham. Cale parked across the street. His eyes surveyed the surrounding area for several seconds. There were no suspicious vehicles, no one who appeared to be deliberately watching the place, only a few customers enjoying their morning coffee. He then crossed the street and pushed open the café's glass door. The soft chime of a small bell rang out. The aroma of freshly ground coffee immediately filled the air. In the corner by the window, a middle-aged man sat alone, reading the news on a tablet. A cup of black coffee beside him was still sending up thin wisps of steam.

he once said, frowning at my depiction of a girl trapped in a mirror. “Why not?” I asked. He had no answer. After school, I went to the café, my sanctuary. A tiny place tucked between a florist and a bookstore, owned by an old man named Ezra who wore suspenders and made the best pistachio muffins in the state. He gave me my usual hot chocolate and waved me toward the window seat. I pulled out my sketchbook and let my mind go. The café always smelled like cinnamon and something old. Something safe.