As I typically do when I’m in New York, I went to Delectica on 3rd Avenue for breakfast, cappuccino, and a blueberry scone with some butter on the side.

As usual, in the in the back of the restaurant a group of elderly ladies was talking and drinking drip coffee.

Suddenly I overheard one of the ladies saying: ‘I hate cocaine, I hate it, it doesn’t do anything for me.’

Another lady asked: ‘When did you try it?’

‘Not too long ago,’ the first lady said. ‘Really awful, I liked … much better.’

She must have mentioned another recreational substance, but she said it in a whisper so I couldn’t hear which one.

Then the conversation took another direction.

‘Look at this man. Where is his son? Usually, he comes here with his son.’

‘The son must be in school,’ another lady said.

It was time for me to leave.

(a sf 2090)