“Of ALL the cafés in Singapore you say this is your favourite cafe?? There are thousands of cafés!” exclaimed the old English man as he took a cigarette.

“Yes,” I admitted, “Thousands.” I took a sip of coffee, sweeter than any I tasted before.

“What an idiot you are,” he said, “It’s not even a particularly pleasant cafe.”

“True,” I said.

“The location is inconvenient, the menu unoriginal, the service unreliable. The waitresses are completely inept. Maybe you should get a job here, eh?” He snorted at that, then took a swig out of his own coffee cup. “Bah! Even the coffee is terrible! For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? The place is terrible.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“What a silly little dunce you are, my pet,” he said, wiping coffee out of his beard, “Well, it’s a good thing you have me now to do your thinking for you. Aren’t you glad I snatched you up when I did?”

“Very glad,” I replied, then smiled and sipped my coffee as he drifted into a deep and final sleep.

This will always be my favorite cafe.