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Dream coffee shop in the brain
〜the Last Supper〜
Welcome, this is a little out of the way.
Somewhere in a secluded, dimly lit alleyway.
Today I'm picking up shells again.
On the front is an unidentified disease scourge and murderous temperatures.
I'm sitting indoors looking at a blue photograph.
Blue walls, blue window sills.
The tablecloths are also blue checked, and people in blue uniforms are eating.
The sound of the urn.
Human voice.
Somewhere, a once-common sceneries.
Even though the photo was taken about ten years ago, when I pick it up again now, it appears to be a lost world.
It's like the last supper.
What would you like to eat for your last supper? is the question.
Nothing annoys me more than this.
No, to tell you the truth, I'm not in the slightest bit of trouble. I'm just wondering what kind of lie I should make today.
And every time, depending on who you are talking to, be cautious and prepare an appropriate answer.
Although I have lived for quite a few years, I am neither a foodie nor a gourmand, so my answers are simple and conventional.
I don't think I want to eat something when it's the last thing I want to do.
That's my answer.
It's a common practice in the world to ask questions, but I'm not sure how cute it is. But that's the truth.
No matter how much time I spend looking back, I can't remember even the most delicious food I've ever eaten.
What comes to mind, sometimes vaguely, sometimes vividly, is not the food, but the conversation with someone at the table, their expression, the music playing, the view from the window, the light.
I'm sure that in time I won't remember the wonderfully sumptuous and rare meals I've had in front of me. Instead, the color of the table and the pattern of the carpet will be etched firmly in my mind.
It may be very miserable and lamentable. But for me, such fragments are important and necessary.
However, I believe that a simple question about the supper is not a bad thing. It is interesting to hear someone's answer about the dinner.
And as I change my answer from time to time depending on the person I am asking, I try to think of a menu for the person asking me.
If you're that person who likes cats… if you're that person who likes to climb mountains… if you're that person who fancies himself a gourmet but can't seem to…
If someone who loves records asks me this question one day, I'll tell them.
Pasta called "orecchiette" ears.
Several ears crowded on a plate.
A story so fun it makes you want to dance.
A sad story drowning in tears
And whispers of love like a flower
And the melody of the twinkling starry sky
It softly absorbs all kinds of sounds and curls up to hide its secrets.
I slowly savored these ears and chewed on the reverberations.
It was as if I was enjoying a complex quartet.
Yes, I was fascinated not by the orecchiette itself, but by the secret of the ear. In other words, I don't cook, but I pick up the dumb pieces and put them in my pocket.
I am so forgetful that I may not even remember it when I leave the table after dinner.
文：sararico