Intro to a not so good short story

Cappuccino

It’s really Hollywood’s fault. Romance doesn’t happen in real life, only in the movies and in our memories. In a moment that is supposed to be romantic we are reminding ourselves to take it all in, “this is romantic”, “look longer into his eyes”, “feel his hand on your back” -the little things that are supposed to be romantic that we pine for when not in a relationship. In a moment that actually feels romantic, one of our bodies makes a body sound a gurgling of stomach juices, an expelling of gas, something from within the depths. A sound that belies the drunken flood of infatuation hormones in our head to remind us that we are human, even beneath a sexy Yves Saint Laurent silk dress. Romance doesn’t really happen. Laughter happens. sadness happens. and somewhere in between we think love happens.
When you imagine Europe, you imagine sitting at a café, an outdoor table, sipping coffee and watching passerbyers. But cappuccinos are very small when not made at Starbucks and after the first sip they quickly become cold. Espresso is the drink of the Italians. It is made for standing, dump in the sugar if you are faint of heart, and throw it back. Not a sip to savor, not a thought to ponder.