coffee no. 41

When you live long enough in a particular city, the city one day starts to live in you. Everyone has their own city, breathing inside them.
It is some kind of inner map where the various places are marked.
Sometimes I think that in the city I've lived since birth there are too many places relevant to memories, both wonderful and really horrible. Almost every cafe keep the recollections of the important words, sweet kisses, or hidden tears. Of lovely roses and torn letters.
When I would like to simply have a coffee the ghosts wake and start their spooky show.