Early in the morning, in the maze of the streets each goes slowly, and here and there the “neighbors” are greetings. Apparently, at the invitation of one “Coffee?” the other responds “bon, are, but fite!”. A pigeon tour, worked in the bosom, with hypocrisy, between haste and care, as if it were several concessions. It's usually just a quarter of an hour at lunch time. A coffee: In an elegant robe, the golden boiling liquid is collected, the air being dressed. Nothing more than that, and at the same time so many things.

First of all, it can be said of the grinding crunches, the snapping of the glasses, the echo of the radio, the sweet twilight that is drying out and the covered lights that adorn eternity until the time of serving the drink. Then, the coffee is appreciated, without drinking, accompanied by all the ceremonial: it moves, smells, looks and looks slowly. Once the tips of the lips and tongue have been burned, when all the flavors are enlarged in the mouth, you first enjoy a sour and soft taste at the same time, before you transmit them gently through your throat, to appropriate everything inside. The first drink is the best, because during the day, even if you drink as many times as you like, you will not have the same taste.

It's the first coffee of the day that you drink with friends and acquaintances, from house to work, two of the offices to the courts, as if it was an attraction to go dragging the needs that force us to dive into them. The talks of the previous night, the events of the day before, the indiscretions about what had been done to one, the new complaints of the people of the institutions and movements, the allusion to the night when a child had gone wrong, the scandal that the newspaper's front page had left open are also beautiful. The words are exchanged in good measure and honestly, preserved by the spirits still fresh and unpolluted in the morning.

I can't change the suit, the coffee or the words, which make the other more special. It's indifferent. Everything has a place and a moment that is full: it is a morning ritual, increasingly different in eternity. By looking at our hyper-socialized lives on an extended horizon, these moments may seem insignificant. However, it can happen that the soul is venal, and that sooner or later it is. A minute of surprise, a sip of coffee in the mouth, and a parenthesis full of flavors and surprises that I want to offer: “Still, all right, fite-fite then eh!”