Monday Morning At The Café

By Mario Fraioli

The café is quiet, save for a few older gentlemen sitting at the table to my left, their voices and laughter amounting to little more than white noise on this uneventful Monday morning. As I sip on my espresso, I can make out the sound of Italian accents in their conversation. It’s the language that’s familiar to me, one I grew up speaking with my own grandfather, who didn’t sound (or look) much different from the portly paisanos enjoying one another’s company just a few feet away from me. This simple scene takes me back 20 years to Nonno’s back porch, where we would sit for hours on end while his friends from the Italian-American Veterans Post next door would pop by throughout the day to shoot the shit and share a laugh. I sit back in my chair and smile, remembering a simpler time in my own life while appreciating this authentic interaction between a few strangers.