It was a cold, rainy morning and I was having a coffee at some cheap cafe when I met him. It seemed that the universe indulged itself into a moment of no importance, as my capacity of foretelling – so goddamn vain. There are some minor excuses I can think of, though. I was never fond of perfect things, they raised me no interest as I had an ultimate passion for the exotic, the unusual, the specific. He was obviously anything but my type: pure, classical face lines, classical black coat, classical everything. Depressingly classical. I successfully ignored his appearance, while pretending to be over-absorbed with my newspaper. Storms. Fire. Genocides. War. Middle East. Mexico Gulf. Arctic Ice. He ordered tea. Minutes later, got something with a slight cinnamon flavour, while waiting patiently at a small, round table, pretty close to mine. Suddenly, the cafe’s huge window opened wide in my back side, spreading its light as some white, weird mist. Windy weather. I couldn’t help feeling annoyed. I took a look around. The cafe was almost empty. Two people, two not-so-bare tables. No music.