When John got on the train, the station seemed completely deserted, with not a single person in sight. Nobody saw him leave. He didn't carry any luggage except a guitar case and a small backpack.
He got off the train in another place far, but not that far away. It was early in the morning. The sky was veiled in a thick cover of clouds, but the air was clear and refreshingly cold. He hadn't slept on the train and felt tired. Tired and drunk. John decided to have breakfast (well, at least coffee) and entered one of these stylish coffee chain places.
He ordered on the counter, paid, and was given his hot beverage. Putting his bags next to him, he sat down on one of these benches with a high leather backrest which look nice, but is useless. From his backpack he took a newspaper from the day before, unfolded it-- but he didn't even look at it.
The windows started fogging up while the place was getting more and more crowded. A young girls short jacket and low pants exposed a sight on him didn't really enjoy. Pale white flesh and black-lace underwear. He averted his eyes and started stirring his whatever-you-call-it-fair-trade-low-fat something with the wooden this-is-not-a-spoon device.
This is not a spoon.
No. It's. Not.
Ceci n'est pas une cuillère.
