Coffee shop Schopenhauer Cafe Caf é Schopenhauer

There is such a place in the 18th district of Guertel Street, which is crowded with old gray buildings in Vienna.

On the first day, when I heard the old wooden door creaking behind me, I felt like walking into an old movie.

Is this supposed to be a drizzling afternoon at the beginning of the last century? The old man, sitting under the big brass chandelier, glanced leisurely at his worried opponent and confidently turned up the newspaper. At the other end of the dusk hall, the pool player lay like a shadow on the table to study the route of the ball, and the man walked on the old floor without a sound, only sweat dripping on the coffee tray.

The velvet sofa seat by the window is soft, as if trapped in a memory. The edge of the flannelette has long been worn out, and there are many oblivion marks on the opposite mirror. The car that has been driven outside the window is also imprinted without sound.

The pendulum swung to and fro, but the pointer did not move, and the voice of the waiter came from behind a thick curtain: "what do you want?"

"A glass of Milangqi."

"Milang Qi, or 'lengthened'?"

Not to add milk, but to use milk to extend the Verlaengerter of coffee, a typical Austrian rural saying, with the capital's Milang Qi Kai non-Melange taste is very similar, less elegant, the cup is also a bit rough.