Yesterday, I woke up early, got dressed and walked to the tube. It was light, but sparsley, as if the light particles hadn’t found their way down to Earth yet. At an empty café by Nytorget, I met Hanna for breakfast.
My crazy two-hundred-percent-and-extra-evening-class-on-the-side-schedule combined with Hanna’s evening shifts at the grocery store hadn’t allowed us to meet for ages, and would not for ages still. But everyone has to eat breakfast. Or should, at least. So we decided to meet up for an eight AM café visit instead of a six PM one.
The bread was good, newly baked and crisp. The orange juice felt luxurious, freshly squeezed. And the coffee was incredible. Intense. Such a chock of tastes for my sensitive early morning taste buds.
It was such a lovely way to wake up. It felt exclusive, like something extra, like giving myself a treat in the middle of the week. Having high class breakfast with one of the best people in the world. Talking about life.
That the café was almost competely empty when we arrived, the owner still setting things up, the milky light falling in through the windows from quiet Södermalm streets. It made me feel like I was doing something good.
While we were sitting there, people slowly started dropping in, and by the time we left just before nine thirty, it was almost hard get out for all the breakfast-eating Söder hipsters. Media people and freelancers, setting their own schedules, free to have breakfast way after nine if they wanted to.
Walking back to the tube, on my way to my ten o’clock lecture, I walked past several pieces of cute little street art. Sofo at its finest.
It was alltogether an incredibly agreeable morning. My first ever breakfast date. It will not be the last.
Katja Malmborg 