Cappuccino. The morning my local café was shut, its owner had fled not paid his taxes, why should he, he didn't earn much but did an invaluable service, I hope they won't catch up with him. It was a place where old men sat looking into their wasted years, a place for pathetic, shivering drunks could come at eight in the morning for the first drink sad man unloved by the world. I came here too cause their haunted faces I can see the presence of god and the holiness of suffering. The new owner has made it clear he doesn't want us here; yesterdays ghosts we seek a dark basement.