The alternative smell in the cafe

The seventies or more.

The street posters are still black and white.

There is a scene from a movie

deja vu

Black Coffee and English Classics

White shirt and black skirt

Words written on a piece of notepaper

And your black eyes.

Equally far-reaching

Memories may not be yours or mine.

Memories make people feel familiar.

The white car flew over the black road

Winter dusk

Let a cafe in the afternoon

Gradually disappear from reality

The moment I closed my eyes, the familiar smell happened to pass by me. She just walked past me, I do not have to open my eyes to know the speed of her past, her body has a unique fragrance, I can not guess what brand of perfume, certainly not those commercial CK, or CHANEL, her body, there is a smell of primeval forest, I once thought that she was blooming in the depths of the forest, that mysterious flower, occasionally transformed, came to the city cafe to drink coffee.

When I opened my eyes, she was already sitting down at a table five meters away from me. And her smell acts as the messenger of distance between us. She often comes here to stay, sometimes drink a lot of coffee, sometimes only drink water, or fruit juice, this is the result of my long-term observation, she often comes during the day, there are few people during the day, and hardly see her at night. I wonder if she will change back to the original shape of flowers at night? She is often alone, sitting there and reading, which reminds me of the literary youth in Western Europe who spend all day in cafes, but I don't think she is. She and her Cuban coffee, with a corner of the cafe, is an unknowable world. I even think that no one can really understand her, of course, sometimes friends come with her and sit all afternoon, or there are a few boys and girls. She spoke like a flock of birds, but could not hear her voice, so the most intuitive thing she gave me was that her fragrance, and her windy footsteps, passed me like a cool breeze.

I never wanted to go up and chat with her, even though we are both regular customers in this cafe. When the northern boy who runs the shop talks to me, he sometimes talks about her, and sometimes he sits opposite her, greets her and talks to her. He tells me that she, like me, only drinks Cuban Cubita coffee and drinks nothing else. I think he knows her very little, even though he has spoken to her. But I think I know more than him. I don't just drink Cubita. I taste her feelings from her Cubita. She never adds sugar or milk to her coffee. When she drinks coffee, she seems to be breathing the fragrance of a flower, or, from my point of view, like kissing a lover. I wonder if it would be presumptuous to describe it like this. She didn't know I was watching her, she didn't know, I was writing a novel about her, the heroine in my novel was by my side, but I didn't talk to her. I think her fragrance is already attached to me, and as soon as I pick up my pen, the smell flies everywhere. Friends who read my first draft also say that they always smell the strange aroma in the manuscript. The mysterious fairy returns to a cafe in this century during the day and at night to a stream in the depths of the forest in the last century. She is a blue flower with a glimmer. Her lover is called Cubita. She was waiting for him to come back, and he had said that he would come back to her in the year 101.

I sit in the last winter of this century, the last day, in a few hours, this whole century will become a huge memory. The Revolution of 1911, the May 4th Movement, the return of Hong Kong and the return of Macao will become the history of the last century. I sat in this cafe in the afternoon, thinking about what would happen to the fairy in my novel, what would happen to her in the year 101. It was raining in winter outside the window and the weather was cold. Although it was the kind of temperature isolated from the outside world, the Rain Water on the street and the leaves shaken by the wind made me feel like Europe snowing. There were also passers-by in long black trench coats in the street, carrying black umbrellas. At this time, there is that song again, MISS YOU FINALLY. Hearing this song always makes me have a strange feeling. There are always old songs in foreign languages, which make people feel like they are real or empty. Sitting on the last day of this century, I am imagining the ending of the novel. I want to buy her a drink of Cubita. I want to finish this novel. I will not come here again. Tomorrow is a new century, and everything should have a new beginning.

But I waited for a long time, never appeared that aroma, I opened the manuscript paper always can not remember anything, I was thinking at this last minute, if she does not come, this will become a permanent remnant, her smell, it should not be out of my idea to disappear in the end. The Cubita I ordered was cooked, and the boy came over again. He pretended to be mysterious and said, "Hey, you've been invited to coffee today. Guess who?" It's that girl, she said to me yesterday, if you come today, if you still drink Cubita, she invited you. He pretended to smile mysteriously. Did he think it was funny? I suddenly felt that I had been robbed by her into the novel, and it was not me but her who wrote the novel.

I sat there, drinking the Cubita she invited me, how could she invite me to drink Cubita? Cubita was the lover she had been waiting for for 101 years, but her fragrance disappeared completely. I felt as if I had lost my memory. Only the heat of this aristocratic coffee guided me. I tried to kiss the hot black coffee with the affection of a person. I closed my eyes and felt myself together with the afternoon in this cafe. Along with everything in this century, it gradually disappears from the reality.