At The Existentialist Cafe Novels & Stories

XAVIER The bell above the door hadn't even finished its cheerful chime before the atmosphere in the coffee shop died. It wasn't just my size or the way my clothes and security team fanned out behind me like a shadow cabinet. It was the heat coming off me. I moved to the... hipster morning customers as they parted like the Red Sea. I didn't see the menu boards or the line of people waiting for lattes. I only saw the back of Vanessa's head and the pale, frozen mask of Laura's face across from her.

I was surprised to see that none of the customers took the seats but instead went through a different door. Two cups of tea were placed in front of us, but I couldn't stop looking at the people who kept going through the door. In fact, the cafe was literally empty. "Jack... why does everyone keep going through that door?" I asked just when Fredrick took a seat. "Do you know what the name of my cafe means, Amanda?" Fredrick asked, and I looked at Jack, who raised an eyebrow. "Sexy time..." "Would you like to see what happens there, Amanda?" He asked again, and Jack raised a hand. "Fredrick, I don't think—"

she whispered to the waiter when he returned to her table with a mug of iced coffee for her. "The best you can find out here," the waiter noted, and slid his hands into the pocket of his white apron. "Anything else?" "No," Sasha nodded in response. The waiter walked away to the next table to receive their order. The beauty of a cafeteria always resides in the bond between every customer and the seat they chose to sit, she thought. Gently, she opened her laptop and began a stream of consciousness, writing anything that crossed her mind whether or not it made sense. She paused on several occasions to observe the environment. The two men sitting across the right end were lost in their conservat

it's a small cozy cafe named'BAKE MY LOVE',. Ahh rubbish.. people do alot of weird stuff for the publicity and guess what this name sucks to me.. Although I didn't like the name of cafe still looking at the interior I visited inside.. It was a cozy cafe filled with light music and a shelf of books... at one wall there written loads of quotes... One of the lady came to take my order, I didn't look at her and ordered the weirdest dish which they were serving.. GOOSEBERRY CHEESECAKE

exclaimed one of the youngest male employees barging into the chat, calling the waiter and allowing Nadhea and Xander messages as he pleased. Xander licked his lips at the menu and said, " I'll have salad, medium beef steak and capuccino coffee."Nadhea and those around her do not deny that Beta's attitude is very different. Something's not right if Xander's too carefree today. But Nadhea quickly ordered where a complete food package, mango juice and ice cream as a dessert. The waiter took the order and gave it to the chef. The cafe below the hotel is very crowded during working hours so need to reserve a seat so I can get a part. Mrs. Thalita was in charge of it along with other children gua

He said inflexibly. Conceding rout she concurred. The café was full of life. Sounds of the cutlery along with the different voices made the place frightfully majestic. The lights, music, luxury and artwork made it more comfortable and warm. They sat by the window where it was less dense. "So like should we order something heavy or perhaps some juice? I'm going for juice", he spoke as he looked through the menu. "I'll get the same" . . "I'm actually terminally ill"

I say. We stand there, both of us listening to the hush where yelling would live if we were different people. The peonies perform peace in the background. He reaches for his coffee. I reach for mine. Our hands almost touch on the wrong mug and both of us pretend not to notice the spark that chooses impact over decorum. “Text me the café,” he says. “You already know the café.” A beat. “I do,” he says, not sorry. “Stalker.”

At least, that’s how it looked. The café was situated on a small corner street, concealed by a closed gallery and a tailor shop that seemed older than the whole city block. Catalina had slipped out for a sudden rain, irritation pricking beneath her tranquility. Her coat was drenched. Her schedule was already breaking down. She ordered without looking up. “Black. No sugar.” “Still,” said a voice from behind, one that she knew well, “very dedicated to pain.”

, and I appreciated the convenience. Lara and I were already seated and waiting for the new client in a quaint cafe owned by one of the pack members. The café was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered about, minding their own business. I was contentedly munching on a chocolate chip cookie when the bell above the entrance chimed, signalling someone had walked in. Curious, I glanced up—only to freeze in shock. I began coughing uncontrollably, choking on my cookie as I tried to process who had just walked through the door.