I walk in--as the door opens, I can feel a wall of warmth that greets me. Tingling, tingling is the sound of the bells that jingle as I let the door close behind me. I make my way to the counter attracted to the enchanting smells that fill the shop. I look at the menu; my eyes drift across each country--trying to decide. I am third in line still trying to choose as the love in my heart and in my eyes drift toward a beautiful crumbly pastry that flies by. The smell was of sweet cream and fruit wrapped in a fluffy, flaky dough-- as it flies by it leave a trail of warm air that tells me it was fresh outta the oven. As I watched it disappear into a seat, my decision was made. Now I am staying at the counter getting ready to speak I say to the cashier as the overwhelming smells burst over the counter.
“ One danish and a fresh Denmark Kaffee please.”
She hands me a number, and I walk away from the crazy delish smells of the parties on the other side of the shiny glass. I found a seat, setting my number on the table, my backpack on the ground, and my jacket on the back of my chair that way I can get cozy. As I wait I walk around the room as the walls are filled with knowledge and stories from those who want to share by writing a book.
This place is mesmerizing the smells hug and snuggle you as you walk around the walls books. The light that is bursting in from the skylight gives you a sense of purpose and desire to grab one of the beautifully bound books. I find a book from early 1800. I take the book back to my seat. My order has arrived. I am sitting down now with my book to my left. I wait to read it--only because I want the book to have all my attention just as the coffee and danishes do.
Caressing the coffee in my hand, I bring it to my mouth. I don't dare drink it yet-- as I have received a burning warning from the outside of the cup. I sit and admire the looks of the pastry as though it is too beautiful to eat. As I look at it, I get lost in what it might look like in its home country. I imagine that I am sitting outside on a street of hand placed bricks. I can see the bouts on the water--lovers lingering in there own world as someone paddles them down the channel. I can look over to the other side to the shops and the buildings that are plastered in bright colors.
tingaling the door opens again. I am back in the New York shop know. I break a piece apart from the Danish and place it in my mouth. The taste the cream and the fruit tango on my taste buds; as the outside crumbles. The aftermath of the explosion lingers as I pick up my red and white coffee mug with the Denmark flag on it. I hugged the cup with my fingers as the perfect temp seeps through the mug and warms my fingers. This time I have the green light to take a sip. As I bring the culture of Denmark to my lips, a burst of harsh condensed black coffee fell into my mouth. It was as if a black panther purring. I drift away in thoughts as I watch the people in the shop--click click click was the sound that the man in the corner made while typing. I can hear the babbling of people slowly die down as I open my book and slowly drift away from the noise.