"Cafe Latte" he said nonchalantly. His order was fixed. Since many many years.
"Tall? Grand? Venti?" , he was demanded.
"Venti", he said. Only capitalistic abundance can make the smallest, tallest, He thought.
He searched for a corner seat. Corner is where 2 walls meet. Three also, actually. But he chose the two one. Sitting on that bean bag, he was a picture of tranquility, if only anyone noticed. Everyone was too busy. Good for him, he despised human attention.
'Stupendo, fantastico', A young couple was conversing in Italian. His favorite tongue, Italian. He could hear all languages there, you name it. The powerful arbabic, the delicate french, the chirpy spanish, the throaty danish, norwegian, everything. This place mixed, flavors, smells and languages and created a unique one of its own. You don't need to be a 'parivrajaka' anymore, this place has brought into being that possibility. This place could be called, a laboratory to investigate human thought. To see how different cultures think, to see how they think no-different. Wont you call such a place, an institution? A sacred one?
But he dint come here for that. He knew where thinking could lead,No-where. He had crossed the hurdle of thinking long back. No, No, he was also not not-thinking. Though he knew not-thinking also through and through. He knew all the turns mind can take, he knew all identifications of mind. Insanity/sanity he knew it all. Nirvikalpa/shoonyata/id/ego/super-ego/cognitive-psychology/epistemology, what have you. The whole philosophy of mind.
"Sir, your Cafe latte", he heard.
Without sugar, is what he used to prefer. He felt the warm-dark-bitter-milky fluid in his mouth. Every sip bitter than the other sip. Every sip making way for another sip. Brahman is bitter, he knew it.