espresso served with soda water. 2 sugars. kozonum szepen. i walked past, turned around. smoke and pastries. a table behind the stairs and at the counter a dread headed waiter. the ashtray is full but none of the butts are mine. sore throat / itchy throat, just looking creates a cough in my throat. uhh i hate soda water. it is the most unquenching liquid apart from vodka. the writer by the window smiled when i came in. im a writer too he doesnt know that though. because of my accent they all think im american. im not. theres a lot of art on these walls. good and bad. bikes in the hallways. ive walked by here three times before actually coming in. im chicken. i dont know why im scared of hungary. im a little ashamed to not speak hungarian. the guy across speaks english / british. so it much be an english safe place. i think i am just scared to get thugged for looking american or something. david says this place is rough but that rough? i dont know. i am making things in my mind again. he is wearing a pearl-stitch knit sweater. grey. a yellow folder on his table. he is scribbling. a leather jacketed fellow comes by with greased hairs to have a look. a brief chat and nothing more. he is still scribbling. green socks & leather loafers. the kind i can imagine that caleb wears.i even think there is tape on his glasses. i like him instantly. black polished nails by the window drags long and hard, staring at the grey street on the other side of the pane. this place is called siraly or seagull. dogs are invited.  

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