Theme Thursday: Brown

In a little café, the smell of coffee winds its arms around chairs and tables. It's busy but quiet. Loudest is the sound of the coffee bubbling and dripping into mugs, and the whir of the fridge where the milk is still cold from the delivery hours ago.

There is a certain technique to making a leaf or a heart on a latté, but if you practise you'll get it. If you don't like the smell, you will soon. If not, get out. But don't stick your nose in the coffee beans, they are sacred you know, like brown gold. That's right, don't laugh.
Do you own a café? Can you tell me that you have studied coffee drinkers for twenty years? Well then. Go serve these.
Personal service, right to the table, that's how you keep them coming back. Maybe it is only a few steps away. Is that a remark on the size of my café? This is prime real estate you know, expensive.
I don't like you making remarks about my café. It will still be here when you are long dead. Coffee is immortal, and this café serves it to everyone. Not a snooty café.
Can I help it? It almost is alive to me. Like a child. Now it's grown up and I can't tell it what to do any more. If you laugh one more time, you'll be out. Faster if the café doesn't like you. It does, though. Sure, I can tell these things. I told you, didn't I, it's like my baby.
Yes that is an offer. No, you're still getting the same pay I advertised. Just because it likes you, you think you're something special? Well all right, as long as you keep it happy.
For goodness sake, it's just a café. You didn't think I was serious?
And keep away from those beans!

 Theme Thursday, where interpretations run amok.